


would it really kill you (if we kissed)

by greenconverses



Series: The New Rome AU [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark!Percy, Eventual Smut, F/M, roman!Percy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 11:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9179326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenconverses/pseuds/greenconverses
Summary: It wasn't like Annabeth hadn't been warned about him.In New Rome, there was just one unofficial rule to surviving and thriving for demigods and mortals alike.Avoid the son of Neptune. At all costs.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on tumblr prompted me with this, "Dark!Roman!Percy/Annabeth. NSFW. He's not against the gods, but he's just dark. Deliciously dark." Because I can't do anything without a serious amount of lead-up, my response quickly spiraled from straight up PWP to porn... with some plot? You'll see.

In New Rome, there was just one unofficial rule to surviving and thriving for demigods and mortals alike.

Avoid the son of Neptune. At all costs.

If that wasn't an option, due to one's job or bad luck, it was still possible to walk away from an encounter with him alive and unscathed. When in the son of Neptune’s presence, it was always the best practice not to draw his attention in any significant way. Nothing good _ever_ came out of that man knowing your name and face.

But if your prayers to Fortuna went unanswered and he did take notice of you, what then?

Well, it was best to be courteous and deferential – not overly so, as the son of Neptune hated fawning, but a certain level of respect was necessary when addressing him. He had, after all, saved New Rome and it was by his mercy that they all continued to live in peace. It was never wise to question his authority and disobeying him was out of the question.

And if you insulted him? You might as well pick out a plot and dig your own grave. If the son of Neptune didn't kill you first, one of his fanatics would get to you next.

Within a week of moving to New Rome, Annabeth'd had this rule and its various intricacies memorized. Everyone she knew – her neighbors, her boss and co-workers, friends who had moved to the city before her – had stressed the importance of the son of Neptune to her straight away.

Even the cabbie who had picked her up from the airport had said, “Ah, a pretty girl like you? You'll do fine, so long as ya stay out of that Neptune bastard's way.”

So, it wasn't like she _hadn't_ been warned about him.

Still, it would have been much more helpful if someone – _anyone_ – had bothered to show her a picture of the city's shadowy tyrant at some point during her first few months in New Rome. Annabeth had little interest in seeking out the son of her mother's most hated rival. But it would've been nice to know what the guy looked like, on the off chance she ran into him at the supermarket or at a social event.

Or, y'know, before she had a bad day and did something enormously stupid... like rip him a new asshole and then challenge him to a fight in the training arena.

In hindsight, that picture _really_ would've saved her a lot of trouble.

 

+

 

Annabeth's Thursday started with an awful email.

An email from her ex, to be specific. Dave, the mortal she'd had a decently serious relationship with almost a year ago, had included her in an email chain announcing — what else — his engagement to the woman he'd cheated on her with.

Oh, and surprise!

They were going to have a _baby_ and there were nauseatingly cute engagement/pregnancy announcement photos attached to prove it.

 _Asshole_.

She'd never been in love with Dave, but she'd cared for him and he'd been the first man she'd trusted in a relationship, post-Luke. And what had he done with that trust? _Betrayed_ her, like the rest of the men in her life. That smarmy motherfucker didn't serve to be happy, let alone have well-composed engagement photos, a drop dead gorgeous fiance, and a goddamn _baby_.

Worst of all, someone _idiot_ had started a reply-all chain to Dave's email. She'd be getting alerts for it all day .

Annabeth threw her phone off the bed and buried her face in her pillow, letting out a scream of pure, primal rage.

Everything just got worse from there.

The heel on her favorite pair of boots caught in the grate at her subway stop and snapped clean off, sending her sprawling on the pavement. She twisted her ankle, tore a hole in her dress pants, and scraped her palm up something good, so she had to limp three blocks back to her apartment to change and dress her wounds.

Plus, she'd landed on her phone (which had survived the toss off the bed) in the fall and shattered the screen. _Yay_.

Not only was she late for work on the day she had to present to a VIP client, but somehow, she managed to spill her coffee on that draft designs for said client. She then realized she no back-up copies because her project partner – a lazy legacy of Mercury whose uncle owned the firm and primary job objective seemed to be getting in her way – had assumed the request was _optional_ , like all tasks she assigned him.

Because she _wasn't_ a talentless hack, she managed to salvage the presentation and sell the hastily made plans she'd drawn up from memory. But that didn't save her from being the only one called into the corner office for a dressing down for her unprofessionalism. She'd also been reminded that the firm had yet to see the top-notch designs and work ethic she'd promised when she's accepted their generous – and very _temporary_ – fellowship.

By the time she left the office for the evening (late, of course), Annabeth's skin crawled with the need to hit something. It seemed like her standing reservation for a sparring field at the Fields of Mars training facility was the only fortuitous part of her Thursday... until she left the locker room and discovered that said field had been Bogarted by two Roman assholes who didn't understand how sign-up sheets and deposits worked.

She should've just called it a day and gone home then and there. A pint of coffee and chocolate chip ice cream was stashed in her freezer for days just like this, and Piper would come over with an expensive bottle of wine if she called and whined badly enough.

However, Annabeth wasn't her mother's daughter for nothing. If she wanted to make herself feel better by beating the shit out of someone, then _by the gods,_ she was going to do it.

"I think we're going to have to reschedule," Gwen said by way of a greeting as Annabeth approached the bleachers. "All the other fields are booked and they're not going to be finished any time soon. Sorry, Annabeth."

"How long have they been at it?" she said stiffly, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared at the men on _her_ field.

She and Gwen were among a small crowd of people who had gathered to watch the two spar, which wasn't unusual. No matter how good of a fighter you became, it never hurt to watch and learn from others. Annabeth had learned just as much about Roman fighting styles from watching other training sessions than she had while sparring with Gwen. She recognized a few of the faces in the crowd, but not the men on the field.

Within moments, it was clear that they weren't ordinary legionaries. Their combined skill and power was visible in every move they made, with each clash of their weapons; these men were _good_ – elite, even. Though the tall Chinese man was the most formidable opponent on the field, Annabeth's eyes were drawn to his shorter, dark haired companion.

He cut a striking figure in his armor and sparring gear, but that wasn't what had caught Annabeth's attention. There was a... _wildness_ about him that other Romans lacked, an unmistakable aura of power. His footwork wasn't as graceful as his partner's, his strikes were fiercer and parries rougher, but every move he made was just as effective, if not more so. He'd clearly been trained within an inch of his life, but even that couldn't stop all that wild, raw power from seeping out.

And then, there was his sword.

All the Romans she knew fought with Imperial Gold weapons or nothing, but this man... he fought with a Celestial Bronze blade as if it was an extension of himself. He was surely capable of wielding any weapon that was put in his hand, but Annabeth instinctively knew that sword was his favorite. What kind of Roman had a Celestial Bronze sword?

“They were on the field when I got here, so probably at least an hour?” Gwen said, interrupting her thoughts. “I can talk Dakota into giving you your deposit back, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Annabeth's frowned deepened. She could handle the loss of a few drachmas, but that wasn't the point. No matter how good those inconsiderate Romans were, they had stolen her field and she wasn't just going to _give_ it to them without a fight.

“We’re not rescheduling,” Annabeth growling, watching the men move across the field. “They can finish this set and then I’m kicking them off.”

Gwen’s eyes widened. “Oh, Annabeth, I wouldn't. Really. I don’t mind waiting another day or two if they want to keep going.”

Annabeth stared at Gwen, surprised by her reluctance. Gwen wasn't big on conflict, but she also wasn't particularly meek – or so Annabeth'd thought. If the Roman men got huffy and _macho_ when she kicked them off, well, too damn bad for them. Annabeth had reserved the field last week through the proper channels; they were in the wrong here, not her.

On the field, the fight was winding into its desperate conclusion. The man with the Celestial Bronze sword had backed his partner into a corner and, quick as a flash, sent his gladius spinning out of his hands and into the dirt a few feet away. The Chinese man held up his hands and panted out an audible, “Yield,” as the point of the sword pressed under his chin.

The second man accepted his partner's surrender with a nod and pulled the sword away, and a smattering of applause broke out in the arena. The Chinese man waved to the spectators as he retrieved his sword, but the second ignored them, heading toward the opposite wall where their things were piled.

Annabeth watched as they each grabbed water bottles and began to talk, presumably about their fight, her annoyance growing with each passing moment. She waited for one of them to look at their phones and realize they'd gone over time, to put their weapons aside and start packing up, but _no_. They were gearing up to fight – again.

“That’s _it_ ,” Annabeth snapped, slamming her bag down on the floor and startling Gwen. She double checked that her knife was securely fashioned to her hip before she walked over to the arena's retaining wall and swung her legs over.

“Annabeth, don’t, _please_ — ” Gwen hissed in alarm, reaching for her. Annabeth’s shoulder slipped from her grasp as she pushed herself off the edge of the wall.

She dropped onto the field gracefully, despite the twinge from her twisted ankle that made her inhale sharply. The two Romans on the field didn't notice her, of course, but an anxious murmur rippled through the spectators as she started to stalk toward them.

“Hey!” she yelled. “Are you two just about finished?”

The Chinese man turned toward her, confusion wrinkling his brows. It only took him a moment to recover and then he was stepping in her path, his hand going to the hilt of his sword.

“Miss, you can't be down here.”

“I don't care,” Annabeth growled. It hadn't escaped her notice that he'd deliberately blocked her view of his sparring partner – what was he, some kind of bodyguard? He certainly was burly enough for the job. “You and your _buddy_ have overstayed your welcome. The field is mine now.”

She could make out emblems on his armor now that she was closer; at one point in his career, he'd been one of the Twelfth Legion's centurions. Annabeth spotted a hint of his legion tattoo under his vambraces – the tips of two crossed spears. Oh, that figured. Members of House Mars weren't known for relinquishing the battlefield, even in practice.

“The field is... yours?” the centurion said, that confused wrinkle appearing once more. His deep voice had a trace of a Canadian accent. “That's not right. You must be mistaken.”

“I'm not. I've reserved this field every Thursday at 7 p.m. for the last six weeks,” Annabeth glanced at her watch and gasped sarcastically. “And, would you look at that, it's 7:15. _I want my field_.”

Judging by his frown, the centurion didn't appreciate her sarcasm. “Like I said, there was some kind of mistake. We've got priority for the rest of the night. I can – ”

“If you say _refund my deposit_ , I will explode.”

“ – adequately compensate you for your lost time,” the centurion grit out. “But you can't have the field and you can't be here while we are. If you need someone to explain it to you, _graecus_ ,” he jerked his thumb at the gawping on-lookers, “ask one of them. Now, get.”

Annabeth did not, as he had suggested, _get_. Instead, she took a step forward, practically vibrating with rage.

“I've had an extremely shitty day, and I don't need your particular brand of Roman condescension to top of it. I am _going_ to have to field and if I have to fight one of you to get it, then so be it!”

His eyes went wide at her declaration – not in fury at the challenge, as she'd expected, but _panic_. Before he could reply, a dark, derisive laugh echoed throughout the arena.

“ _You_? Fight one of _us_?”

The centurion grimaced at the sound and Annabeth felt the entire mood of the training arena shift from eager anticipation to cold, wary tension. He shot her a look that clearly said, _Now you've done it_ , before he reluctantly stepped aside.

His training partner stepped forward.

Up close, he was even more striking – a strong jaw, lined with dark stubble, high cheekbones, untamed dark hair – and his mere presence commanded attention in a way few men could. Annabeth couldn't stop looking at him if she'd wanted to. Despite the relaxed set of his broad shoulders and his casual stance, every inch of his muscled form screamed _threat_.

And not just a threat if she came upon him on a battlefield. If she met him in a board room or while crossing the street or at a bookstore, she'd think the same thing: _threat_. He could upend her entire world if she let him.

Which she _wouldn't_. She had learned her lesson with men like him.

“Yeah, _me_ ,” she replied, throwing her hand on her hip. “You think that's funny?”

The Roman circled her, taking her in from the tips of her boots to the knot of curls at the top of her head. Annabeth tried not to stiffen under his gaze. He had eyes the color of sea glass; a girl could get lost in them, if she ignored the sharp edges the ocean hadn't yet soothed away.

“You're nothing but a _graecus_ ,” he said simply. His gaze lingered on the silver owls dangling from her ears, and he smirked. “And a daughter of _Minerva_ , at that. You wouldn't stand a chance against a true child of war like Frank here, let alone someone like me.”

“Athena,” Annabeth corrected, bristling. She didn't know where the Romans had gotten the idea that Greek demigods were lightweight warriors, but she'd had with being dismissed by them. And that went double for their constant mockery of her mother. “And we'll see if you're still saying that when I knock your ass into next week.”

He arched an eyebrow at her and then traded a look with the centurion, Frank, as if to ask, _Can you believe this chick?_ Frank shrugged and shook his head. The Roman turned his gaze back to her.

“You want to fight _me_? You _do_ know who I am, don't you?”

He had no identifying emblems on his armor and his long shirt sleeves covered his legion tattoo, but the rankling arrogance in his tone implied that he didn't need those things, that she should know him on sight. She didn't. That should've made her pause, made her think about who, _exactly_ , she was trying to pick a fight with, but Annabeth's _hubris_ was already raising its ugly head and lashing out.

“The better question is,” Annabeth said, stepping into his space and poking him in the chest, “do you think I _care_ who you are?”

Like something out of a movie, the entire arena gasped as one – someone might've even screamed. The Roman looked momentarily shocked that she'd touched him, his eyes darting to her finger and then back up to her face. Those green eyes narrowed, his expression darkening as he knocked her hand away. His casual front vanished in an instant, and Annabeth got a full taste of that raw power she'd sensed from afar. She could practically feel it surging under his skin, waiting to be released.

If she were a lesser demigod, his power might've sent her to her knees. But for someone who'd run with children with ozone and lightning their veins since she was seven years old, it was nothing she hadn't seen before.

“Fine. A fight it is,” he said in a low voice. “Three rounds with your weapon of choice. Best two out of three gets the field. Frank will be the referee. Are those terms acceptable, daughter of _Athena_?”

“Perfectly,” she said, baring her teeth. Her gaze darted to the sword at his hip. “That your weapon?”

He nodded, his fingers dancing across the hilt of the blade. Her knife wouldn't do her any good against him, so she turned and strode over to the arena's sword rack to mull over the middling selection of Celestial Bronze blades. Knives were her specialty, but Annabeth knew her way around a sword, too. She hadn't grown up in the shadow of Luke Castellan, the greatest Greek swordsman of the last century, without picking up some skills of her own.

She hadn't _killed_ Luke without first becoming a match for him.

Annabeth grabbed one of the blades she'd worked with before; it was a bit shorter than the Roman's, she guessed, but it was good sword in a pinch. She swung it around once and then again before she was satisfied with her selection, and turned back to the center of the field.

Frank and the Roman were having a hushed conversation – the latter looking mighty uninterested in what Frank was telling him. Frank broke away as she approached, shaking his head in irritation. He fixed her with a glare as he passed.

“I hope you know what you're doing,” he said, nodding his head in his companion's direction. “Once you start this fight, you're his until he decides he's done with you... and he won't take it easy on you 'cause you're a pretty blonde.”

“Is that so?” Annabeth replied, lifting her chin. “Then I guess _I_ won't take it easy on him because he's got a good looking face.”

As far as comebacks went, it wasn't her best, and Frank rolled his eyes.

“Don't say I didn't warn you,” he muttered ominously, and took his place on the edge of the arena.

Annabeth glared over her shoulder at him one last time before giving herself a good shake. She needed to focus on her fight, not get distracted by an off-hand comment. The Roman might be powerful, but it took more than power to defeat a child of Athena, especially one who had already seen her opponent fight.

She smirked to herself, rolling her shoulders and stretching out her arms. The Roman had no idea what he was going up against, while she'd already cataloged the strengths and weaknesses in his fighting style. This first round would be hers, easily.

He joined at her at the center of the arena, pulling his sword free from its holster and twirling it lazily. Annabeth dug her shoes into the sand and set herself in her starting form. The buzz of the arena faded as she met his gaze across the way.

“Fighters at the ready?” Frank asked. She and the Roman nodded at each other. “Begin!”

He was on her in an instant, sword swinging toward her head. Annabeth caught his strike with her blade, the impact rattling her down to her bones. She grit her teeth and pushed him off, meeting each of his next strikes with ease. The Roman came at her hard and fast each time. He was clearly hoping to scare her with his ferocity and then overpower her in a few moves. Another demigod might’ve succumbed under the pressure; Annabeth _thrived_ on it.

Annabeth let him keep her on the defensive, using each blow to get used to his strength and speed. She was being driven back toward the retaining wall where, above, his fellow Romans jeered in the stands. Annabeth took note of his expression him as she dodged a particularly difficult move and… noticed he looked _bored._

 _Bored!_ With her!

Annabeth’s eyes narrowed, fury licking at her. Was he _holding back_ against her? Did he _really_ think he could beat her with anything less than his full strength?

Well, she’d show _him_.

She waited until he came in for a close hit and she struck, locking the hilts of their blades together and _twisting_. Luke had taught her this disarming move when she was a kid, and it never failed.

Sure enough, the Roman's grip broke and he dropped his sword. At the same time, Annabeth landed a hard punch on his jaw and then followed it by slamming her boot into his outer thigh, dropping him to his knees. She kicked his sword out of reach and pointed the tip of her own blade to the vulnerable skin of his throat.

“Yield,” Annabeth said simply, her voice echoing in the sudden, shocked quiet of the arena.

As soon as the stars cleared from his vision, surprise flickered in those green eyes, followed in quick succession by disbelief and then, anger, as he stared up at her. He looked her over once again, as if he was actually seeing at her this time, and, when his eyes met hers again, he had settled on an emotion that made her heart skip a beat: _interest_.

“I wasn’t expecting that. Impressive,” he said in a low tone, only met for her. Annabeth arched an eyebrow and pressed the blade a bit more forcefully against his throat. He sighed and then said, louder, “I yield.”

“Uh,” Frank said incredulously. “First match point goes to... the daughter of Athena!"

Annabeth kept her blade where it was for two or three more seconds, just to make her point, before she pulled it back and allowed him to rise. She dug her foot under his sword and kicked it hilt up into her hand.

“Hold back in the next round,” she said disdainfully, tossing it to him, “and I'll embarrass you even faster.”

The Roman caught his sword and let out a bark of laughter, just as dark and deep as before. “You can certainly try, daughter of Athena. I welcome the challenge.”

And a challenge it was.

Their second round started off slower, more a show of style and skill than brute strength, each of them testing the other’s limits of swordplay and sparring. They challenged the other’s weaknesses and found their strengths, landing inconsequential hits as they adapted at each new level. His blade caught Annabeth’s cheek, leaving behind a painful scratch; she returned the favor a moment later, ripping a shallow, three-inch wound on his right arm.

Annabeth forgot her anger, their bet, and the crowd, becoming lost in the joy of the fight. It had been so long since she’d fought like this, free of restriction and with an opponent that was truly her equal — maybe even her better in some areas. It _thrilled_ her, made every part of her that lusted and loved battle cry out in ecstasy, and she knew, just _knew_ , it was the same for the Roman.  

“What’s your name?” he asked during a lull in their fight as they circled each other, contemplating their next move.

“Annabeth,” she said, wiping blood from her face. “And yours?”

A slow grin crossed his face. “I thought you didn't care who I was.”

“Well, now that I'm kicking your ass,” Annabeth drawled, shrugging casually. “I thought it might be polite to ask.”

“Percy. My name is Percy,” he said. He paused, as if waiting for some sign she recognized his name When she didn’t, he twirled his sword and continued. “The sword’s name is Riptide, in case you’re wondering.”

Annabeth couldn’t help herself — she laughed. “I wasn’t.”

“Pity,” he sighed dramatically, before he charged at her once more.  

The fight’s intensity began to build, faster and faster as both of them hungered for the win; the hits became almost brutal in their physicality, designed to bring their opponent down. Percy landed a kick to her gut that would've punctured something, had she not been wearing armor — as it was, it drove the breath right out of her.

She had to end this. Now.

Annabeth swung away from him, bringing her blade back around in a swift arc designed to take off heads. Percy ducked and then surged up quickly, locking their hilts together. He grabbed her wrist with his free hand and forced her arm down; she half-expected him to break her arm. Instead, he tore her sword from her hands and whirled, reeling her in as he slid her sword behind her neck. Percy raised Riptide and pointed it at her throat.

“Yield,” Percy demanded as soon as he caught his breath, chest heaving.

Annabeth knew there was no way of getting out of his hold without getting her head chopped off. His wrist was a heavy weight on her shoulder and she felt his grip flex as he pressed the flat of the blade closer.

“I yield,” she panted out reluctantly, trying to catch her own breath.

Distantly, Annabeth heard Frank announce Percy’s win and the answering cheer from the crowd, but she could only focus on the man in front of her and the tension crackling between them. Even though she’d yielded, he kept her pinned with the blades, as if he waiting… waiting for what? He stepped infinitesimally closer, almost certainly unconsciously so, and his eyes darted down to her lips. Annabeth’s eyes widened in realization.

He wanted to kiss her.

Oh, _gods_ . The dumb Roman was thinking about _kissing_ her while he had a sword to her neck and she — she _wanted_ him to do it! She wanted him to drop that sword, bury his hands in her hair instead, and kiss her senseless. If he kissed anything like the way he fought — if he _fucked_ anything like the way he fought —

Annabeth shivered and closed her eyes.

Seconds later, Percy let go of her and stepped away. She opened her eyes and he handed her sword back to her. Whatever had passed between them in that moment was gone, wiped clean from his face and replaced with an arrogant smirk. Heat built in Annabeth’s cheeks. Had she imagined it?

“Next round wins,” Percy said, walking back toward his side of the arena. “Think you can keep up, _Annabeth_?”

Of course she had. She was undoubtedly a mess, covered in blood and dirt, ponytail and bangs matted with sweat. No one would want to kiss her looking like _that_ , let alone a man as handsome as Percy.

Annabeth glared at him and spat on the ground. “Watch me.”

They squared off again and the tension returned almost immediately. She didn’t even care about winning the sparring field any more; her pride would not let the Roman win.

“Final round,” Frank called. “Begin!”

If the second round was a challenge, the third fight was all out war. Annabeth and Percy were a whirl of motion, a glorious study of brutality and strength, each of a master of their own fighting style. It wouldn’t be a long fight — they’d already pushed each other toward the edges of their endurance — and it wouldn’t be pretty, either.

Annabeth disarmed Percy, but before she could even feel a flash of triumph, he’d knocked her sword out of her hands, too, leaving them both weaponless. They stared at each other, momentarily at a loss, and then charged again, flawless exchanging punches and kicks, blocking more blows than they landed. They were so evenly matched, so _good_ at reading the other — if this was how they fought against each other, Annabeth wanted to know what they could do _together_.

Their sparring quickly became grappling when Annabeth managed to sling her elbow around Percy’s throat and pull him into a choke hold. His hands scrabbled at her arm as she yanked him down, causing his back to bow, and started to squeeze the air out of him. Annabeth laughed. She had him. She was going to win this if she just —

Her sore ankle, which had held up well throughout her fights, chose that moment to decide that bearing Percy's additional weight was too much and gave out. Annabeth wobbled, her grip loosening, and Percy took immediate advantage.

His hands locked around her wrist and then he reared forward, flipping her over her head. Annabeth slammed on the ground with enough force to drive all the breath out of her — and to crack a rib or two, if the sharp pain blossoming up her side was any indication. She wouldn't be going anywhere.

But Percy didn’t take chances, bending down and pressing a knee to her chest. To add insult to her injury, he pulled her knife from its sheath at her waist (how had she forgotten the knife?) and pointed it at her heart. That tricky _bastard_.

“Yield?” he panted, his throat red and tender from her choke hold. He looked like the descendant of pagan gods, split lip and all.

Annabeth nodded, wheezing out a pained confirmation. Percy lifted his knee off her chest and raised her knife. For a brief, panicked second, she thought he might _kill_ her — but he slammed her knife into the sand next to her head instead. He stood, a bit wobbly on his feet and raised his fist triumphantly. The arena erupted into cheers.

“Final match to Percy Jackson!” Frank’s voice declared over the noise, somewhere to her left. “The son of Neptune wins the set over the daughter of Athen — _oooh_!”

As Frank spoke, Annabeth used the last of her strength to swipe Percy’s legs out from under him. He fell hard into the sand beside her, landing on his side with an undignified grunt.

“You _yielded_ ,” he groaned, voice full of pain and disbelief.

“I’m a poor sport,” she replied, pushing herself up onto an elbow. “That was for… stealing my knife, asshole.”

“Noted,” he said, wincing as he sat up. “ _Ow_. I’m going to feel that one in the morning.”

“Good,” Annabeth said, reaching for her knife. Each breath she took was accompanied with a sharp stab of pain; she’d definitely broken something.

Annabeth would’ve easily suffered through the broken ribs with a win under her belt. She was annoyed that she’d lost, naturally — daughters of Athena never liked losing — but her earlier anger was nowhere to be found. Aside from her physical aches and pains, she actually felt _better_ than she had in weeks. Maybe even since she moved to New Rome.

And to think, all she had to do was pick a fight with… with…

Annabeth’s brain screeched to halt as Frank’s earlier words finally pushed past her fading adrenaline and pain, and her logical side reasserted itself. Her eyes immediately swiveled to Percy, who had risen to his feet once more.  

It made sense now — Gwen’s deference, the large crowd he and Frank had drawn, his arrogance and skill. Every detail that had vied for her attention and she'd ignored out of frustration. That wild, raw power of his _alone_ should’ve clued her in immediately. How many times had she felt that same energy coming from Thalia or Jason or Nico?

 _Di immortales_. She was a _moron_. A soon-to-be _dead_ moron.

“What Frank said…” she began quietly, drawing his attention again. She swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat. “You’re… you’re the son of Neptune?”

Percy’s brow furrowed as her stared down at her. He looked almost normal now, as if all that power and authority of his had been extinguished at the end of their fight. 

“You really didn’t know?” Annabeth shook her head. “Huh. I _had_ wondered… I couldn’t decide if you were suicidally arrogant or just dumb when you poked me in the chest like that.”

Hysterical laughter bubbled in Annabeth’s throat; her broken ribs made her giggles sound like gasping sobs. “Both, apparently. Holy _shit_. And I… I called you an asshole — to your face!”

“You wouldn’t be the first one,” Percy admitted with a grumble, holding out a hand to her. "I wouldn't go around bragging about it."

Still giggling in disbelief, she took his hand and Percy pulled her to her feet. Their chests bumped together and Annabeth locked eyes with him once more, her laughter dying as that heavy, heady tension from the battlefield washed over them again. They were close together now, their clasped hands the only thing keeping them apart. It would be so _easy_ to surge up on her tiptoes and kiss him; Annabeth’s sure he’d let her do it.

“You are, however, the first to fight to a standstill in a _very_ long time,” he murmured. “Feel free to brag about _that_ as much as you like.”

His calloused thumb gently traced over her knuckles, just once, and Annabeth blushed. Then, he dropped her hand and took a step away, breaking the spell between them. She felt the briefest pang of disappointment.

"So I take you're going to let me live?"

"For now. You've got me curious, daughter of Athena," he said, smirking. He cocked his head as she stepped back and gave her a final once over. “Do all Greeks fight like you?”

“No,” Annabeth answered honestly, turning, her chin held high. She tossed her ponytail over her shoulder and called back, “I’m one of a kind.”

 

+

 

She’d been warned about him.

  
And Annabeth would be lying if she said she didn’t know what was coming next. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Here's a chapter with exactly zero romance, lol.

Within minutes of Annabeth leaving the arena that night, a video titled, “EPIC FIGHT: Son of Neptune vs. Daughter of Athena,” is uploaded to YouTube by user KingoftheBrocean4.

KingoftheBrocean4’s entire YouTube channel is dedicated to clips of the son of Neptune in combat or on the training field. It’s quite the collection — most of the recent footage he’s recorded himself — and he’s built up a modest following among the Neptune fanbase and combat enthusiasts for quality vids.

It takes less than an hour for Annabeth and Percy’s fight to become the most viewed on his page.

Another hour after that, it becomes of the most viewed video of the week, and has begun circulating heavily on reddit, Twitter and Facebook. Vine gets ahold of it at the same time — the clip of Annabeth disarming Percy alone increases the interest in the original video three-fold. By the third hour, highlight and react vids are uploaded; remixes are made; fights start in comment sections; the GreekVRoman subreddit loses its collective shit and tumblr explodes with gifsets, glee, tears and rage.

In the fifth hour, the Olympus News Network gets ahold of it and begins airing the footage during its late shows, gaining some of its best ratings for that time slot in the network’s history. _The_ _New Rome Register_ receives a statement from the son of Neptune’s people, confirming that the video was real, and gets to work trying to identifying the unknown woman fighting against Percy Jackson.

By morning, the video and its contents would be inescapable in every major, demigod-populated city in the country.

And what was Annabeth doing while her life of relative anonymity in New Rome was spectacularly imploding?

Sleeping, naturally.

+ 

_Highway to the danger zone! Gonna take you right into the danger zone!_

Annabeth frowned into her pillow as the guitar riff from “Danger Zone” trilled out from her phone for a third time, the obnoxious tune finally succeeding in drawing her from the deep, healing sleep she’d fallen into. She lifted her head and blinked into the darkness of her bedroom. The only light came from her phone, which was displaying Jason Grace’s photo, his handsome face split by the spiderweb cracks on her illuminated screen. She groaned when she saw the time — 3:35 a.m.  

What in the name of Hades could Jason want with her at this godawful hour?

Wearily, she picked the phone up and answered his call. “‘Lo?”

“Fantastic, you’re alive,” Jason said dryly, and then called out to his wife on the other end, “She’s alive, Pipes!”

“I _told_ you she’d be fine,” Piper’s distance muffled voice commented as Annabeth grumbled, “Is there a reason I _wouldn’t_ be alive?”

Jason let out a dark, humorless chuckle. “Oh, I don’t know. Fight any extremely dangerous Roman demigods in the last 12 hours, Annabeth?”

Annabeth’s brow furrowed. Gossip traveled fast in demigod circles, but she thought she’d at least have a day or two before Jason found out about her fight with Percy. “How’d you know about that?”

“How’d I… Someone recorded you, so now it’s all over the Internet! _Plus,_ I’ve had New Roman leadership crawling up my ass for an explanation for your behavior since 2 a.m. Did you know that a Greek provoking the son of Neptune is considered a minor act of aggression? What were you _thinking_?” 

Annabeth rolled on to her back, wincing as her ribs protested the movement. She’d popped a square of ambrosia before she’d gone to bed, but the healing magic apparently hadn’t finished knitting her bones back together yet.

“I wasn’t trying to start some inter-pantheon incident. He was in my way, and I wanted a fight,” she explained. “I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known who he was.”

The silence on Jason’s end of the line went on for so long, Annabeth had to check the screen to see if the call had dropped.

“You didn’t _know_ ,” he said, his voice staggered with disbelief. “Annabeth, how could you _not_ know? Everyone knows who he is!”

Annabeth was glad she was alone in the dark, so no one could see the embarrassed flush rising on her cheeks. She really had dropped the ball on this one. She prided herself on her intelligence, and exposing an area of ignorance, even to Jason, who’d she known for decades, was painful.

“I’d never seen a picture of the guy, okay? From the way everyone talked, I assumed he was some fat, middle aged New Jersey mobster type, not…” 

Not a devastatingly handsome man her age, with a body built for war and sin, and eyes that could cut right through her. Not a man who could keep up with her and impressed her with his strength and power.

Not someone she already longed to see again.

“Not some _douche_ on the sparring field. And, anyway, isn’t it _your_ job to educate emigrants to New Rome about threats like him, Mr. Ambassador? You had months to show me a picture!”

“It’s called _Google_ , Annabeth,” Jason replied, in perfect mockery of the know-it-all tone she’d sported throughout her teens. “Besides, I’d assumed you were an _adult_ who was past picking fights with unknown demigods.”

Jason’s paternalism rankled her. They were little over a year apart in age, but Annabeth had always thought of him as a young brother. He’d always looked to her for advice and guidance growing up at Camp Half-Blood, and taking care of Jason, making sure he grew up right… it was the least she could do to repay Thalia for her sacrifice. Luke had felt the same. At least, in the beginning years.

Her dynamic with Jason had shifted sometime after the war. He had gotten his life together — finishing college with honors, marrying Piper McLean after a romantic, whirlwind courtship for the age, and securing a highly respected position as the Greek ambassador to New Rome. He was the responsible one, the successful one, the true hero of Olympus. _Everyone_ liked Jason, even the Romans.

No one liked Annabeth.

At least, no one had liked what she’d become during the war. She’d done the things that Jason, Olympus’s golden boy, couldn’t — things that ensured he kept his hands clean. He still didn’t know the true extent of her actions, but her breakdown after the war, her subsequent unraveling, had probably clued him in. She’d failed out of college, wrecked her remaining friendships, and continued to have shitty judgement in men who kept dragging her down. Her mother had nearly disowned her after she’d practically spit on the gift to redesign Mount Olympus.

Jason had never given up on her, though. Piper hadn’t either. Their support was one of the only reasons she’d managed to pull through that period of her life and get things back on track.

She could picture him now, glasses on the table in front of him, rubbing his eyes in exhausted frustration at having to clean up another one of her fuck ups. A nasty, resentful part of her insisted that Jason enjoyed lording his success and happiness over her, but Annabeth knew he was only trying to help — and that he had enough on his plate without her adding to it.

“I had an off day, okay? Like I said, if I’d known who he was, I wouldn’t have done it,” she admitted, twisting one of her curls around her finger in agitation. “Now I know better.”

“Good. You’re lucky you made it out of that arena alive. Percy Jackson is dangerous.”

“I am well aware of that.”

" _Beyond_ his combat skills. He doesn’t suffer fools and he doesn’t give second chances. He’s got money, power, influence… not to mention he has his own little cult of groupies to do his dirty work for him,” Jason clarified. “If you see him again, you have to be _very_ careful.”

She frowned. The man Jason described sounded very different from the one who had encouraged her to brag about fighting him to a standstill just hours ago. If Percy had been planning to retaliate, he would’ve done it when she knocked him on his ass after the fight was over.

“How well do you know him, Jason?" 

“Enough to know he’s a dick. The senate gets nervous every time we’re in the same room together, so I’ve only met the guy a handful of times,” he replied, heaving a sigh. “I don’t blame them. He knows exactly how to provoke me and… it’s hard to explain. I don’t have this problem with Nico or my sister, but, with him, it’s almost _impossible_ to ignore that Big Three instinct to tear each other apart. He’s just that much of a jackass. And trust me, no one wants to see that fight.”

“Except the entire Internet.”

“Except them. But _you’re_ currently their darling, so enjoy that.”

Annabeth groaned. “When you said it was all over…”

“It’s _everywhere_ , Annabeth, which means ONN’s on top of it too. I think Piper’s fielding a call from them now,” he said. “Jackson’s people already put out a statement confirming that he was involved, but I won't identify you unless you want me to.” 

“No,” Annabeth said shortly. “I hate reporters. Gods, I can't believe people care about a spar this much.”

“You defeated the _son of Neptune_ in single combat. Of course that's going to be news here. But I don't think it'll be a headline past the weekend. There's no way Jackson's going to let the spectacle of you kicking his ass go on for more than a day.” 

“I did kick his ass, didn’t I?” Annabeth grinned in the dark, recalling the deliciously astonished look on Percy’s face after she’d disarmed him and knocked him to his knees.

This time, Jason’s chuckle was genuine. “You did. You were amazing. I haven’t seen you fight like that since the war.”

“I haven’t had to. He’s good, Jason. Maybe even better than you.”

“Hmph. I doubt it.” Annabeth knew that dig would get to him. Jason wasn’t nearly as big headed as a son of Zeus could be, but the right prodding could ignite the arrogance and vanity that ran in his veins. “Anyway, I have to go. I told the praetors I'd get back to them after I talked to you and got your side of the story. I'm sure they'll be _very_ impressed with the, 'She didn't know who he was!' excuse.”

She groaned. “Gods, tell them anything but _that_. Tell them he insulted my mother; everyone always buys that one.”

“I'll save that one for the ONN statement, maybe. Try not to get any more trouble in the meantime, okay?”

“No promises.” 

“ _Annabeth_.” 

“Gods, I’m going right back to sleep. And _yes_ , I’ll be _nice_ to the son of Neptune and not punch him if I see him again, _Your Grace_.” 

Jason started to grumble again, but Annabeth ended the call. She tossed her phone aside and then ran her hands through her hair, staring at the ceiling contemplatively.

No matter what Jason thought, she knew wouldn't see Percy Jackson again.

In New Rome, she was an anonymous demigod architect and her mother was one of their least respected gods. She’d never be high ranking enough to be a part of his social circle and, even if she was, the son of Neptune wouldn’t lower himself to engage with a Greek demigod on a regular basis. _Especially_ if that demigod was the daughter of his father’s rival.

Though she knew it was for the best, that men like Percy Jackson only led to trouble, Annabeth couldn’t help but be disappointed by this fact.

Fighting against Percy had been nothing short of euphoric. Annabeth hadn’t felt that alive in ages. She wanted to do it again, wanted to show off to him and rise to the physical challenge to he offered her. Afterward, she wanted to pick his brain or see if she could tease another smile or that wit she’d witnessed out of him. She wanted — well, she wanted _him_.

Her gaze darted to the floor where her laptop lay beside the bed.

Was their fight _really_ all over the Internet? If it was, she could kiss the remotest chance of Percy seeking her out again goodbye. He’d come out a winner in the end, but she’d beaten him once and he’d barely won in the last two rounds. Losing to an unknown daughter of Athena so publicly would put a dent in his reputation; he’d have to find a way to rebuild it. Maybe Jason was right and she _should_ be on the watch for retaliation.

She almost reached for her laptop, but a sharp throb from her still-tender ribs and her growing fatigue put her off that idea. She’d need all the rest she could get if she expected to get any work accomplished in the morning. The Internet certainly could wait until then.

Annabeth rolled onto her good side and closed her eyes, letting the distant sounds of night in New Rome lull her back to her dreams, where a man with green eyes and a smirking mouth that tasted like sea and sunlight waited for her.

+

Her face was on the cover of the morning issue of the _New Rome Express!_

Annabeth stared dumbly at the paper in her hands, hardly comprehending what she was seeing.

It was the same free, trashy tabloid she was handed every morning on her way to the light rail station, the one she’d paged through to entertain herself while she waited for her train to arrive on busy days. She’d read it hundreds of times since she’d moved to New Rome, rolling her eyes at the spin the writers took on the most straightforward stories and eating up the gossip about the city’s elite, and now… now _her face_ was on the cover?

She snapped the tabloid in half, hiding the cover from view, and made herself count to 10 before she unfolded it again. Maybe she was imagining things. That photo was pretty grainy, after all. Maybe it was a pap shot from an upcoming action movie. Maybe…

No, there was no denying it. That was her on the cover in all her barbarian glory, her mouth contorted in a snarl, blood dripping from the slash on her cheek. The huge, bold headline decked beside her photo confirmed it: _ATHENA’S DEMON: Greek demigod provokes the son of Neptune — and wins!_

Annabeth dug her phone out of her bag and, with shaking hands, snapped a photo of the cover, sending it Piper, followed by text containing more capslock and expletives than she cared to admit.

The minute it took Piper to respond felt like one of the longest of her life.

A hysterical laugh bubbled out of Annabeth’s throat and the man next to her shot her a worried look before shuffling away. She was in the Times — the _New York Times_? The _Los Angeles Times_? She couldn’t decide which one would be worse.

She hadn’t _really_ believed Jason when he said her fight with Percy Jackson would be newsworthy. Sure, the Internet might get its rocks off to it — Hermes knew her social notifications and email inbox had confirmed that — but she wasn’t sure that legitimate news organizations would care about it. Neither of them had been significantly injured or had gotten killed. It wasn’t a sanctioned arena match and it _certainly_ wasn’t a statement on Greek and Roman relations.

The fight was a spectacle, something to throw at the hordes who treated demigods like their very own MythoMagic pieces. Not _real_ news.

The lack of reporters or cameras outside of her apartment when she left that morning had all but proved Annabeth’s theory. If they’d _really_ been interested in her, they would’ve found out her address with or without Jason’s warning. He’d definitely overreacted, she’d decided. It was a loathsome trait he’d inherited from the King of Olympus that tended to surface more than he cared to admit.

She shot another glare at the cover of the _Express_ and sent Jason a mental _mea culpa_ on the matter as she typed another reply to Piper.

Annabeth had no idea how long the video of their fight was or how detailed it was — something she’d have to rectify soon, if she didn’t want to be caught off guard again — but if someone had captured that intense, tension-filled moment between her and Percy at the end of the second round, Piper would’ve noticed it in a heartbeat. Was that what those smirky faces were about?

Piper didn’t care about matchmaking nearly as much as her siblings and yet, she’d still started prodding Annabeth back toward the dating scene in recent months. But that probably had to more with the fact that she was a disgustingly happy married who wanted her single friends to be happy and in love too, than any daughter of Aphrodite compulsion to be a relationship doctor.   

She very much doubted that Piper had the son of Neptune in mind when she’d encouraged Annabeth to find herself a _nice guy_ to have coffee with at their last brunch. Percy Jackson was the farthest thing from _nice_.

Jason had probably asked his wife not to encourage any more fraternization with the son of Neptune, anyway. He’d blow a gasket if Annabeth ended up in the arms of the devil of New Rome, especially after what had happened with Luke. 

 _Luke_.

Her throat grew tight at the thought of him, unfortunate memories threatening to surface as her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, unsure of her reply.

Percy Jackson reminded her so much of Luke, enough that she should run and never look back if she ever saw him again. All Luke had _ever_ done was use her body and betray and scar her heart. He had broken her and Percy, with all the power and influence Luke had craved, could shatter her twice as easily. And yet…

And yet, _what_? Did she think he’d be kind, just because he hadn’t broken her when he could’ve? She didn’t know anything about Percy Jackson beyond his reputation and what she’d learned on the training field with him. And both had confirmed the exact same thing: Percy Jackson was _dangerous._

Her eyes told her this; her experiences told her this. The still healing cut on her cheek proved it. Every instinct she had, every sensible person knew all warned her of the truth, and yet…

The train rumbled into the station with a shrill whistle, the accompanying gust of wind stirring papers on the ground and gently blowing Annabeth’s curls back from her face. She locked her phone and shoved it in her bag, deciding to save her reply to Piper for later, when her head was on straight.

 _And yet_ , a small voice said in the back of her mind as she boarded the train, tossing the offending newspaper into the bin beside the door, _if he’s dangerous, what does that make you?_

+

The reporters caught up to her at work.

Annabeth might’ve noticed them before ONN ambushed her outside her office, had she not been so rattled by her experience on the light rail moments earlier.

It had started off normally, with Annabeth taking her usual spot close to the doors — the station closest to her firm, _Eastman & Ellis, _was only three stops away and she didn’t like to get pinned in the middle if she could help it — and doing her best to ignore everyone else in the car. But it wasn’t long after the train lurched into motion that she heard the whispers.

“Jumping Juno, it’s _her_!”

“No, no, no. It can’t be! What would she be doing — ”

“It _is_! Look at her face — that scratch!”

“Ohmygods, yes! She got that from _him_!”

Annabeth whipped her head in the direction of the whispers, spotting two teenagers staring at her from a few seats away. When her gaze settled on them, they’d shrieked — as teenagers tended to do — and ducked lower in their seats, giggling nervously.

The shrieks had the unfortunate effect of drawing everyone else’s attention in the car toward her and that, combined with the numerous copies of the _Express!_ on display, ensured that it didn’t take long for her to get recognized.

The suit seated behind the teens kept looking from Annabeth to his copy of the _New Rome Register_ , his eyes growing wider with each pass; an elderly woman seated in the priority area near to Annabeth casually got up and tottered down the car; another group of New Rome University students had their phones out and were undoubtedly blowing up SnapChat with numerous, undoubtedly _hilariously_ captioned, photos of her bitch face.

Someone in the back of the car decided to alert the trio of legionnaires on board of her presence and the three of them muscled their way toward her, hands on their swords, to get a better look. Annabeth half-expected those three to challenge her — the big bruiser in front was a son of Formido and looked eager for a confrontation — but all they did was glare, staying well on the other side of the circle of precious open space that had suddenly materialized around her 

Their inaction had puzzled her, initially. Surely a legionnaire would be angry that a lowly Greek had beaten their best in combat and prideful enough to avenge him? She’d known Romans who’d gotten into fights over lesser perceived insults to their collective honor. They weren’t even trying to _taunt_ her. A moment later, when she’d reached into her bag for her headphones and the legionnaires tensed as one, battle ready, she’d understood.

They didn’t want a fight. They were protecting the rest of the passengers — _from her_.

Annabeth had to bite back another one of those hysterical laughs. This was absurd. Absolutely _absurd_.

Had the idiot who uploaded the video edited it with an anti-Greek angle in mind, to make her look like the backwards savage the Romans all thought the Greeks were? She wasn’t a threat to these people. In fact, she’d probably shed more blood than anyone on this train during the Titan War. If they’d knew what she’d done, what she’d _sacrificed_...

A decade ago, Annabeth wouldn’t have recognized the difference between being feared and being admired. She would have revelled in any attention that acknowledged her as the best and most fearsome of Athena’s children. _That’s right_ , her seventeen-year-old self would’ve sneered, _I beat your scary son of Neptune. You_ should _be in awe in me_. She would’ve taken the legionnaires as a challenge, three-on-one, and would’ve knocked them all down to prove her invincibility, her superiority to mortals and lesser demigods alike.  

Now? She wanted to go to work in peace, just like the rest of them. The Titan War had taught her the value of a normal ordinary life.

Apparently, all it took was one sparring match with the son of Neptune to make hers disappear.

Vibrating with anger, she jammed her headphones in, turning up her music and glaring out the windows as the train moved through the business district. The music helped distract her, but she couldn’t ignore the prickling sensation at the back of her neck that meant she was being watched. She _hated_ it, knowing that, beneath her cardigan and sheath dress, they saw her for what she really was.

By the time the train had arrived at her stop, the tension in the car had risen to nearly intolerable heights. Frankly, she was surprised the car hadn’t emptied out long before now, but it was like they were all frozen, waiting for her to make her first move.

As soon as the doors opened, Annabeth was off the car like a shot, shouldering her way through the boarding crowd, trying to put as much distance between her and train as possible. The legionnaires hadn’t bothered following her; they probably needed to stay behind and accept congratulations from the rest of the car for saving them from the barbaric daughter of Athena.

Her shoulders had started to unknot as soon as she was off the platform and, when she’d turned on to the block where the _Eastman & Ellis _ offices were situated, she’d almost gotten her anger and disappointment under control.

Then, a microphone got shoved into her face, and everything went straight to hell again.

“Annabeth, Delilah Richards from _Olympus News Network_ , tell us about your encounter with the son of Neptune yesterday. Is it true you didn’t know who he was?”

Annabeth stumbled to a stop, unconsciously reaching for her knife, strapped to at her back as it always was, before she registered that the perfectly coiffed woman and her heavyset cameraman in front of her were not of any particular physical threat to her. She barely had time to think about Delilah Richards’ question before another breathless reporter and camera joined them — and another. And _another_.

“Miss Chase, _MSNBC_ … we’ve heard reports that you’re a veteran of the Battle of Manhattan, can you confirm — ”

“ — anything to add to Ambassador Grace’s statement, Miss Chase?” 

“ _Fox News_ here. Annabeth, were your aggressive actions a statement regarding growing Greek discontent in the city and if so — ”

“How are your ribs, Annabeth? Feeling all right after Jackson kicked your ass?”

“Give us a smile, daughter of the Athena!”

 _That_ particular request deserved only one response — a middle finger flipped in the photographer’s general direction, which ignited a firestorm of clicks and camera flashes. Jason was going to _love_ her for that.

She ducked her head, holding her bag in front of her face to to ward off any more video and photographs as she pushed through the mass of reporters to get to her office, ignoring their repeated questions with grim determination. 

Gods, this was such a mess. If she _ever_ found the little click-obsessed cretin that had uploaded that video... 

The reporters couldn’t follow her as she pulled open the door and charged up the stairs to her office, but their shouts did, echoing throughout the stairwell until the door shut and they were abruptly muffled. Annabeth didn’t slow her pace until she reached the third floor, arriving breathless and panting in the lobby. 

The phones at the front desk were ringing off the hook and Tess, the firm’s receptionist, abruptly hung up on whomever she was speaking to when Annabeth came into view.

“Annabeth!” she squeaked, leaping to her feet. Tess was a tiny thing, a legacy of Acrus, and her pink curls and nervous disposition gave her a strong resemblance to a poodle. “You’re here!”

“I know, I’m late. There are reporters outside — ”

Tess let out a high-pitched giggle. Annabeth suspected it was involuntary on her part. “Oh, _we_ know. They’ve been there for an hour, and they just keep calling. I don’t know how many I’ve patched through to PR.” She gestured at her ringing phone, all of the lines lit up in red. “Mr. Eastman is _furious_. He’s been trying to get rid of them, but they said they weren’t leaving until they talked to you.”

Annabeth’s stomach dropped. Lionel Eastman was the firm’s founder and he didn’t bother to hide his dislike of her; he’d been the one who reamed her out yesterday for her poor showing during the Theoi Hotels presentation. 

“How’d they find out I work here?” Annabeth said, her tone harsher than she intended. “I’m not listed on the company website!”

“Spencer called them. You know his mom’s an anchor for TVNR, right?” Tess said miserably.

That absolute _shithead_.

In addition to being her generally worthless project partner and annoying cubicle neighbor, Spencer Ellis was an insatiable gossip who was always looking for a way to make himself the center of attention through as little work as possible. He’d probably started looking for the quickest way to make a buck off his connection to her the second he’d recognized her. 

“I’m going to _murder_ him.”

“Annabeth, _wait_ , you’re supposed to — ” Tess said, moving to stop her, but Annabeth was already around her desk and striding toward her desk in the middle of the floor.

Conversations halted as Annabeth passed, Tess trailing after her and ringing her hands nervously. Some of her co-workers rose out of their seats to gawk at her, and Darren jumped out of her way, sloshing coffee down his front. A few the cubicles were empty, though, as the remainder of the floor was congregated around Spencer’s desk, hooting and hollering a video he’d pulled up on his computer. She could guess which one it was.

“The son of Neptune must be losing his touch if _she_ was able to beat him,” Spencer was saying to the crowd boastfully, his back to her. “I was in the First Cohort back in the day and we would’ve been laughed out of the legion if a _graecus_ had managed to beat us. I mean, did you _see_ her form?”

Annabeth threw her bag on her desk, knocking over her pencil cup and a framed picture from her camp days with a clatter. The noise made several of the men jump and Spencer whirled around in his chair, surprise flitting across his face. He hastily reached out to stop the video.

“What _about_ my form, _Spence_?” she asked, crossing her hands over her chest.

“Chase,” he replied slowly, his eyes fixating on the scratch Riptide had left behind on her cheek. “You’re here? But I thought…”

“What, that I’d be laid up all day with some cracked ribs?” She scoffed, leaning over the divide menacingly. Some of her smarter co-workers took that as their cue to disperse, but Spencer’s core group of flunkies stuck around. “Really, I’m _dying_ to hear what you think of my combat skills. Or can I just log on and read it on TMZ or whatever trashy tabloid decided to pay for your worthless opinions instead?” 

Spencer glared at Tess over Annabeth’s shoulder. “You _told_ her?”

Tess let out a terrified squeak and Annabeth moved in front of her, blocking her from Spencer's view. 

“As if I wouldn’t have found out on my own. You’re the only craven publicity whore in the office.” 

“Says the chick who let the son of Neptune dominate her — on _camera_.” Spencer leered at her. “Got any other tapes we should know about, Chase? I’ve got a buddy who’ll pay out the nose for some kinky _graecus_ shit. I get a finder’s fee, though. It’s the least you could do after your fuck up with the Theoi presentation yesterday. There’s no way I’m getting a commission off that shit.” 

She’d always suspected this was Spencer’s opinion of her, because she’d been called a whore by men like him before — shameless, coddled assholes who’d had everything handed to them and got their rocks off by degrading accomplished women who threatened them. So that part? That didn’t bother her _nearly_ as what he’d said about her work, especially since he did everything he could to undermine her and take credit when she succeeded in spite of his incompetence.  

Her fingers dug tightly into her arms, her knuckles going white as she reigned in the urge to leap over the divide and pop Spencer right in the jaw. It’d give him exactly what he’d want: an excuse to go running back to the media with a wild story about being assaulted by an unhinged _graceus_.

Besides, engaging in a brawl with an unworthy opponent was beneath a daughter of Athena.

Verbally eviscerating them, however, was not.

“The only reason you have a job here is because your last name is on the stationary,” she said, drawing back and glaring down her nose at him. “Your designs are bottom of the class, rudimentary eyesores — not that you’d ever be able to figure out the math _and_ do all the backgrounding to get one approved in the first place. You can’t even follow a simple request to make _copies_. You’re nothing but dead weight in an ugly suit that the rest of us have to drag around, lest you be forced to grow up and face your own inadequacies. If you _ever_ use my name again to profit or make yourself feel even the _slightest_ bit relevant, I will _ruin_ you. Got that?”

Spencer stared at her, jaw unhinged and face purpling as Annabeth’s words settled on him. It was probably the first time in his life a woman had talked to him like that. Her lips twisted into an insincere, razor-sharp smile — the one that always made her enemy’s blood curdle with dread — and turned, brushing past a stunned Tess as she advanced toward the executive suites in the corner of the office. 

“Oh _yeah_?” Spencer bellowed after her, recovering. “You think you’re special, huh, Chase? You’re still a daughter of Minerva! No decent Roman will _ever_ think you’re worth anything, you self-righteous bitch!”

The door to the executive suite snapped open on Spencer’s last word and Lionel Eastman strode on to the floor, displeasure radiating off him in waves.

“What is going on out here? If you’re still talking about that damnable video, I’ll...” He trailed off, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of Annabeth moving toward him. “ _You_. What are you doing here?”

Eastman’s words and resentful tone made Annabeth’s confidence falter slightly. That was the third time someone had been surprised that she’d shown up to work today. Had they all thought she’d be calling in sick, incapacitated with exhaustion? Or...

She remembered what Tess had said earlier, that Eastman was furious about the media attention, and the pit in her stomach returned with a vengeance. 

“It’s Friday, sir. I always work Fridays,” she said cautiously, gaging his reaction. “I’d like to speak with you about — ”

“Not this Friday you’re not,” Eastman interrupted, glaring at her. “Did you even bother to check your email before you waltzed in here — late again, I might add — Miss Chase?”

Normally, she checked her work email on the train so she could get a head start on any problems or requests her clients had submitted overnight. Today, however…

“I… was a bit overwhelmed this morning, so no, sir. I didn’t.”

Eastman rolled his eyes. “I should’ve expected as much. _If_ you had bothered to read your email, Miss Chase, you would’ve discovered that, as of today, you have been placed on indefinite leave from _Eastman & Ellis_, pending further review from the board.” 

Was he serious? Spencer had just called her a bitch in front of the entire office, and  _she_ was the one being put on leave?

“ _Leave_?” Annabeth choked out, unable to believe what she was hearing. “What, because of that dumb video?”

“That _dumb video_ , as you put it, has brought intense, unwelcome attention to this firm,” Eastman declared, drawing himself up to his full height. He was a mortal, but had all the presence and intimidation that belonged to a battle hardened demigod. “Do you know how many clients I’ve _personally_ had to talk off a ledge this morning? They all think they’ll be next in line for retaliation from the son of Neptune if it’s discovered they paid for a design from the upstart Greek girl who made him a laughingstock in New Rome! And then there’s the resources we’ve had to devote to _media calls_ and extra security in case one his associates decides to pay a visit… You’re lucky half the board out is out of the town for the weekend, otherwise your fellowship would have been terminated immediately!” 

“Sir, it was a _sparring match_. That’s it,” Annabeth said quietly. “I didn’t know — I didn’t think — “ 

“Well, that much is certainly clear. You picked a fight with the son of Neptune and didn’t think there’d be _consequences_? My dear, this is _New Rome_. You play by the rules or you don’t play at all.”

Annabeth glanced around the office as Eastman’s words sank in, searching for an ally that would rise in her defense. Had they all known about this? Spencer, of course, looked like his vindictive frat boy Christmas had come early, but the rest of her co-workers refused to meet her gaze — some, she noticed for the first time, sported the same looks of fear the people on the train had. Even Tess, who the closet person she had to a friend here, wouldn’t make eye contact, her head bowed and big eyes concentrated on her shoes. 

She shouldn't have been surprised and it shouldn't have hurt as much as it did. Romans didn't appreciate those that stepped out of line. They’d all warned her every damn day since she’d moved here, hadn't they?

 _Avoid the son of Neptune. At all costs_.

It wasn't just a warning for safety reasons. It was just what was  _done._

Humiliation threatened to overwhelm her, as Eastman had no doubt intended it to, until that little voice in the back of her mind, the one that was beginning to sound an awful like her mother’s voice, spoke up again: _You have nothing to be ashamed of_.

The thought was like match in the darkness, chasing away her doubts and fears, leaving her with her one, steadfast companion: her _pride_.

She’d looked the son of Neptune in the eye and humbled him in single combat. She walked away with a few paltry injuries and inflicted some of her own on the city’s most fearsome warrior. Percy Jackson had encouraged her to brag about their match _himself_ and these people — these _cowards_ — wanted to punish her for it?

Fuck that. 

Eastman was going on, telling her that she had five minutes to vacate the premises before he called security, but Annabeth was already turning on her heel, walking back to her desk to snatch her bag. Tess murmured an apology under her breath that Annabeth refused to acknowledge and she strode out of the office with all eyes on her once again.

She slammed through the door and paused at the top of the stairs, taking a deep, steadying breath to calm her emotions. Then, she began to descend, ready to face the changing tide and whatever it brought in next with her head held high. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! Sorry this took forever, but hopefully the fact that it's 8,000 words will make up for my tardiness.

Despite the fact that Annabeth couldn’t have spent more than a half an hour upstairs in her office, the reporters were gone by the time she stepped outside again, her spine straight with furious determination. She blinked as harsh sunlight hit her eyes, faltering just bit as she took in the empty sidewalk before her. She’d been fully prepared to run the media gauntlet again — maybe even answer a few questions and set the record straight if it got them to leave her alone — but she’d never dreamed they’d just be _gone_ when she got downstairs.

Annabeth knew the press and the threat of the Eastman & Ellis legal team wouldn’t have been enough to make them go totally away; if that was the case, there’d still be a bank of cameras blinking at her from across the street where they couldn’t get in trouble. Maybe they’d be called to some other breaking news event? She could only hope it was something dramatic like monster attack in the suburbs. That would _definitely_ kick any coverage of that stupid fight off the news networks for good.

She advanced a few cautious steps and then realized that the sidewalk wasn’t as empty as she’d thought.

A man with dark, wavy hair stood a few feet away, one elbow propped on a parking meter, staring up at the third floor windows where the Eastman & Ellis logo was etched in gold. The clatter of her heels on the pavement and the slam of the door behind her caught his attention. His glass green eyes swung her way and her heart skipped a beat.

 _Percy_.

Sweet Athena. The Fates were not being kind to her today.

After last night, it was almost surreal to see him just hanging out like he was a normal guy instead of the most feared man in New Rome. Anyone who gave him a second glance wouldn’t be fooled, however. He cut just as impressive of a figure in a dark blue sweater and tailored jeans as he did in his armor, and his air of authority was no less powerful off the battlefield.

Finding the devil of New Rome lurking outside her place of work should’ve frightened her. Instead, it just pissed her off. Percy Jackson had already done enough to ruin her carefully built life in the last 24 hours. For all she knew, he’d had been the one to leak that video of their fight. If he’d just gotten off the field when she told him to; if he hadn’t been such an _asshole_ and insulted Annabeth and her mother; if the people in this city weren’t so fucking determined to be terrified of his every move. If… if…

“What are you _doing_ here?” she demanded, striding over to him. It occurred to her, belatedly, that he might’ve come for revenge, as both Jason and Eastman had all but promised he would. He’d be in for a surprise if he was. “If you want a re-match, you picked the wrong day for it, buddy.”

Percy straightened as she approached. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, baring his tan forearms in that effortlessly attractive way men got away with all the time. She noticed that under his sweater, he wore a striped dress shirt and slim black tie — a fucking _tie_! Annabeth didn’t give a shit what Jason had to say; no one wore a _tie_ when they came calling for revenge.

“Maybe in a few days, once the bruises you gave me have healed up,” he said, offering her a small smirk. “How are your ribs, by the way?”

Annabeth growled. That was a classic power move, reminding her that she had taken the most serious injuries — both to her body and pride. If anyone should be asking for a rematch, it should be _her._

“Better than ever,” she spat. “Too bad you didn’t get here earlier — there was a whole pack of reporters that would’ve been happy to air your gloating.”

Percy’s brow furrowed slightly at her antagonistic tone. He couldn’t have expected her to play _nice_ after how this whole thing had blown up, could he?

“If I was here to gloat, I wouldn’t have cleared the cameras off for you.”

“What?” That brought Annabeth up short. _He_ had sent the press away? He was certainly powerful enough to hold enough sway over the press, but why would he do that? For _her_?

“Well, not _me_ , exactly. My brother saw you being harassed on TV earlier and wanted to do something about it,” Percy explained easily. “Apparently, you’re his new hero for kicking my ass.”

 _Di immortales_ , there were _two_ sons of Neptune running around New Rome? Annabeth knew she hadn’t been paying close enough attention to the rumors about Percy Jackson, but she would’ve remembered that one if someone had bothered to tell her.

“Brother?”

“Half-brother, anyway. Tyson’s a cyclops. Chasing off reporters is his favorite thing after peanut butter and horses. He’s a one-man Brute Squad. Very effective if you don’t want to deal with paparazzi everywhere you go.”

“A cyclops,” Annabeth repeated, horrified. She glanced over her shoulder, half expecting to find a 10-foot monstrosity hovering at her back, leering down at her like she was demigod-sized Big Mac. “You own a _cyclops_ and you brought him _here_? You must be joking.”

Percy’s shoulders tensed, his mood visibly darkening, and when he spoke, there was a sharp, warning edge to his voice, “Tyson’s not my _pet_. He’s a person, just like you or me; a person who wanted to do you a _favor_ , by the way. I came along at _his_ suggestion, because he thought my presence would give the vultures a good reason to leave you alone at work.”

Annabeth couldn’t believe this. He admitted he let an _actual monster_ run loose on crowded city streets, sicced it on people for fun, and somehow, _she_ was the bad person for being _bothered_ by it?

A scathing retort waited on the tip of her tongue, but a flash of emotion in Percy’s eyes held her back.

Was he… _disappointed_ in her? For _what?_  Not getting down on bended knee and thanking him for his benevolence? She hadn’t asked for anyone to deal with reporters, just like she hadn’t asked for any of this attention in the first place. She’d just wanted a spar. It was _his_ groupies and _his_ reputation that had caused this mess.

 _Or, maybe,_ suggested that obnoxious little voice in the back of her mind, _he’d hoped you wouldn’t act like a bigoted asshole when he told you about his brother._

That thought made her pause. Why would he think something like that about _her_? She didn’t carry any more enlightened views on the subject of monster rights than the average demigod just because she was a daughter of Athena. In fact, Annabeth tended to cling to her biases on that subject more firmly than anyone else she knew.

But Percy Jackson didn’t know that. All he knew about her was that she hadn’t been afraid to pick a fight with him — she hadn’t been afraid of him, _period_. She’d told him she didn’t care who he was yesterday. Had he thought that would attitude would naturally extend to his cyclops brother?

That was just _stupid._ It was different with Percy. He was a demigod, _not_ a monster. Though...

_You picked a fight with the son of Neptune and didn’t think there’d be consequences?_

_Percy Jackson is dangerous._

_Avoid the son of Neptune. At all costs_.

Though she wasn’t sure if many people in this city knew the difference any more. If the son of Neptune himself even knew.

Annabeth exhaled heavily. Percy had a point. He and his… brother _had_ done her a huge favor. She could be the bigger person, the _better_ person he clearly thought she was, and let this particular argument go.

“Sorry,” she said, forcing out the apology. “The only cyclopes I’ve met have only been interested in eating me or my friends. But I do appreciate the gesture. Is, um, Tyson still around?”

Percy’s expression told her she wasn’t doing a good job of holding back her anxiety _and_ that he didn’t find her apology particularly sincere, but he seemed willing to let it go. His shoulders already held less tension.

“No, he had to head off to the forges. He left me in charge of making sure none of them came back for a good while,” he said. “I was thinking about going up to say hello, but it can be… _alarming_ when I show up somewhere unannounced.”

Thank Athena he hadn’t. Eastman probably would’ve had a coronary if the son of Neptune himself had appeared in the lobby looking for her this morning.

It must be so exhausting for him, she realized, to always have to warn people before he went somewhere. What she’d experienced on the train was probably just a fraction of what Percy went through on a daily basis. Even now, on the street, Annabeth had noticed that people passing by gave him a wide berth and kept their eyes downcast. It’d be one thing if his cyclops was still hanging around, but Percy wasn’t doing anything but _talking_ to her.

“Are you on your lunch break?” he continued, glancing at his watch. “Seems a bit early for that.”

A flush crawled up on Annabeth’s cheeks. “No, I… I apparently wasn’t supposed to come in today. My boss put me on leave after he saw the video.” She let out a humorless laugh and ran a hand through her hair. “He all _but_ fired me, actually. I’m sure that’ll be coming once everything calms down.”

Eastman had been right about one thing — she really should've known better. She couldn't keep deflecting the blame on to Percy. He would've left her alone if she hadn't been such an asshole to him. 

Gods, what was she going to do if she _was_ fired? She’d worked so hard for that fellowship. It’d been proof that she was ready to make something of her life again, that people saw her as something other than a fuck up who had wasted her potential. Jason’s disappointment would be unbearable.

No, that couldn’t happen. She’d think of something to convince the board to keep her on.

Percy’s face turned stony and his eyes darted up to the third floor windows again. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Oh, _that_ was exactly what she didn’t need.

“Did I ask you to say something?” she snapped. “I can save my job without you going in and — and _snarling_ at people!”

It took a long moment for Percy to drag his gaze away from the windows. His hard, unsettling expression barely shifted as he arched eyebrow at her.

“Snarling?”

“I assume that’s what you do when you intimidate people — which, _again_ , I don’t need your help with. I’m plenty intimidating on my own.”

“Yeah, you are. But if you need someone to stand behind you and snarl for extra effect…” He shrugged. “I’m available.”

Was it just her imagination or had Percy’s expression softened some? No, that was definitely amusement that was causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle.

Why was he being so _nice_ to her? Annabeth had been rude to him for the get-go and was still being a jerk, even after she’d been warned not to. She’d picked a fight that had caused unwelcome attention to be directed at both them. Percy was probably used to it, but it still had to be annoying. He should be snarling at _her_ , not offering to do it to Eastman & Ellis’ board of directors.

“Percy,” she said a little wearily. “Why did you really come here?”

He rocked back on his heels and then stepped forward, into Annabeth’s personal space. Annabeth prepared to feel threatened by his nearness; instead, it conjured up the echo of the delicious tension that had lingered between them at the end of their fight. She shivered, remembering the heat the simple touch of his hand had sparked in her.

“Like I said yesterday,” he said. “I’m curious. I want to know more about you.”

“Me?” Annabeth scoffed. “Why would you want…”

She trailed off as she registered the open, _wanting_ expression on Percy’s face. The heat of it threatened to set her every nerve on fire and melt her bones; she’d never had anyone look at her with such intensity before. There was no mistaking his intent.

Percy Jackson wanted _her_ — Annabeth Chase, a mouthy, upstart daughter of Athena.

Annabeth hadn’t expected this. It was one thing for her to dream about what the son of Neptune’s lips would feel like against hers or how soft his hair would feel under her fingers, to imagine what’d be like to feel his body move against hers, not in a brutal fight, but surging towards mutual pleasure instead. She’d known, instinctively, that those thoughts would never manifest into anything real. He was stratospherically out of her reach.

And yet, here he stood, looking as if he’d had plenty of his own dreams he wanted to make a reality.

It didn’t make any sense. She was nothing special.

“Why me?” she asked again. “You could have any woman in this city.”

“I could,” he said. “But I’d rather get a coffee with a woman who isn’t afraid of me. The cowering makes it hard to have a decent conversation.”

“You don’t exactly strike me as a coffee date kind of guy.”

“Us sons of Neptune have all sort of layers. You know, like onions.”

Annabeth let out a laugh in spite of herself. “Seriously? Did you just quote _Shrek_ at me?”

Percy’s answering smile nearly took her breath away. Sweet Athena, he had _dimples_.

“I was _kinda_ hoping you’d miss the reference. Now I just look like a dork,” he replied dryly. “There’s a pretty good local shop a few blocks away. You look like you need a pick me up after your shitty morning. How ‘bout it?”

She wondered, briefly, what would happen if she said no. Percy seemed more relaxed, more _human_ , today, but she hadn’t forgotten those flashes of anger she’d glimpsed or all that unnatural power crawling under his skin. _No_ probably wasn’t a word he was used to hearing.

Would he accept it with a shrug of his broad shoulders and a casual, “No big deal,” before moving on with the rest of his life? Or would he ignore it, persisting and escalating his advances? He’d already shown up to her work. What was to stop him — or his monster minions — from showing up at her apartment and continuing to harass her?

He said he wanted a woman who wasn’t afraid of him. Did he want one who would defy him, too?

Annabeth wasn’t going to say no — at least, not yet. She was just as curious about Percy Jackson as he was about her. But it was something worth considering, a possibility she shouldn’t dismiss out of hand. She’d been fooled once by a man who could hide his true self and it’d nearly destroyed her; she couldn’t let that happen again.

“A cup of coffee sounds lovely,” she said, offering him a tentative smile. She gestured to the sidewalk ahead of them. “Lead the way, Jackson.”

+

A daughter of Athena and a son of Neptune walk to a coffee shop. 

It sounded like the beginning of one of the Stolls’ dumb jokes, an improbable scenario Annabeth would’ve rolled her eyes at and walked away before she heard the ending. Like _she’d_ ever have anything to do with any child of Poseidon.

And yet, here she was. Strolling through downtown New Rome on a perfectly sunny morning, the son of Neptune himself at her side and her guard coming down with every step they took.

It should have been awkward.

They were two people from different walks of life who, by all rights, were destined to be rivals, no matter how they met. There should have been uncomfortable silences and more flares of temper on both sides. The conversation should have been stilted and unsure, full of missteps and backtracking. It should have been anything _but_ nice.

And maybe it would have been, if she’d been with someone other than Percy Jackson.

Annabeth didn’t understand how it could be so _easy_ with him. She barely knew him — she certainly didn’t trust him — and yet, it just felt _right_ to have Percy at her side. Their mutual attraction seemed like the obvious culprit behind the feeling, but there was more to it than that. They’d had a connection on the sparring field too, moments where they had acted as one or reacted to the other without even thinking, as if they’d been fighting together for ages.

It was as if there had always been a spot carved out for him at Annabeth’s side, and she would have never noticed the emptiness without his broad shoulders filling it in.

Gods, she was never this sappy. What was this man doing to her?

“So, are you an architect?” Percy asked, nodding back toward the Eastman & Ellis building behind them. “That’s what your firm does, right? Designs buildings?”

“Among other things,” she replied, inordinately pleased that he had guessed right on the first time. Usually when she told people who she worked for, they asked if she was in the marketing or PR department. “But yes, I’m an architect. I specialize in urban design with an emphasis on preserving or enhancing historic community features. If you want to know a useless fact about an old building, I’m your gal.”

“Bet you’re handy on trivia night.”

“So long as the topic’s not historic New Roman architecture. I’m still a bit behind on where I should be on that style; I didn’t have any interest in it until I got the fellowship here. Eastman & Ellis has some of the Appian Way reconstruction contracts. I was hoping to get on one of those projects after my probationary period was over.” She snorted, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment that coursed through her. “That’s definitely not happening now.”

“Your boss was that pissed about the video? Why?”

Percy had slipped on a pair of Ray-Bans, obstinately to hide his identity, though Annabeth didn’t know how anyone could miss him. He was just… so _much_. It was harder to read his expression with them on, but his brow was crinkled again — he was just annoyed, she decided, not slipping back into that stony rage he’d displayed earlier.

Annabeth deliberated about what she tell him for half a second before deciding on the truth. She didn’t have to protect Percy’s feelings when he had cultivated such a nasty reputation on his own. He knew exactly what everyone in this city thought of him.

“Negative attention, mostly. He was worried we’d lose clients once people made the connection. No one would want to hire the firm that employs an upstart daughter of Athena, just in case they get targeted for retaliation during the son of Neptune’s next temper tantrum.”

Percy shot her an exasperated look. “I don’t throw _temper tantrums_.”

She smothered another grin. “If you say so. Almost everyone I’ve talked to seems to think you’re gunning for revenge because I made a fool of you. You _are_ taking me to a coffee shop and not your shadowy underwater lair, right?”

“Funny. Turn left up here,” Percy said, gently pressing his hand to the small of her back to guide in her the right direction. It was a quick touch, but it made goosebumps break out over Annabeth’s skin all the same. “I swear, the rumors in this city get worse every week… I have better things to do than plot out elaborate revenge schemes against everyone who pisses me off. And I’m _not_ pissed about our sparring match. Well, maybe about it getting splashed everywhere, but the fight itself?” He shook his head. “I _can’t_ be mad about that. Anyone who thinks I should be has never picked up a sword in their life. I’ve never fought against anyone like you. You’re… breathtaking.”

It wasn’t his words that made Annabeth blush, but his earnest sincerity. She’d never been called _breathtaking_ before. Severe and cold, yes, but breathtaking? That was a word that got reserved for children of Aphrodite or Apollo, not lowly daughters of Athena.

“Well, you’re no slouch yourself,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ears bashfully. “I haven’t been able to let go like that in ages. I’d forgotten what it was like to fight someone and just… _revel_ in the challenge of it. I wanted you to sweat for every inch.”

“You must be used to out-thinking everybody on the battlefield, huh? I could tell you were getting annoyed when I caught onto your moves.”

“Took you long enough. _You’re_ clearly used to overpowering everyone you come in contact with. That seaweed brain of yours must’ve enjoyed the workout.”

“Seaweed brain?” A chucked accompanied Percy’s smile this time, and the warmth that spread through Annabeth’s chest had nothing to do with the sun. “I’ve never been called that before…”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

They had come to a stop at the corner of a busy intersection, standing just a little further back from the other pedestrians waiting for the light to turn. Percy turned, his smile fading, and pushed his sunglasses up into his hair.

“Y’know, sometime in the middle of the whole thing, I thought…” He paused, weighing his next words. “I thought, ‘ _Man_ , wouldn’t it be something to fight _with_ this woman instead of against her? We’d be unstoppable.’ Kinda stupid, huh? As if descendants of Neptune and Athena would ever — ”

“It’s not,” Annabeth interrupted, meeting his gaze. “Because I thought the same thing.”

For a handful of seconds, the world fell away, leaving nothing but Annabeth and Percy, and the charged possibility between them.

A mortal wouldn’t understand the significance of their exchange. Two demigods admitting they wanted to work together? What was groundbreaking about that? Greek and Roman demigods tolerated each other for the sake of peace and little else; alliances were more common between them than friendships, and even those were shaky at best. Romans were a severe bunch with a superiority complex who had little tolerance for the more free-spirited Greek lifestyle.

Add that on to the smaller, but equally complex, dynamics between demigods born to minor gods versus major gods, demigods whose parents were rivals or were distrusted by most of the Pantheon, or any of other divine baggage the gods decided to hand down to their children, and things could get very messy indeed.

A daughter of Athena and a son of Neptune had no business getting coffee together, let alone wanting to fight side-by-side with the other.

It was a dangerous idea, but looking into Percy’s green eyes, seeing his acknowledgment, it didn’t feel _wrong_ to Annabeth.

In fact, it felt like something that should have happened a long time ago.

The crosswalk light turned and the world came back into focus as the people around them began to surge forward. Annabeth blinked and Percy looked away in that span of time, tipping his sunglasses back down over his eyes as they began to move again.

“Well,” he said, his voice a bit huskier than normal. He cleared his throat, struggling to overcome the remnants of _possibility_ still lingering between them. “Anyway… the point is, your firm’s clients have nothing to be afraid of. Though, I could understand if it was the contractors for the Appian Way raising a fuss. I’m the one who took out a good chunk of the Way in the first place.”

Annabeth had nearly forgotten what they were talking about. She arched a curious eyebrow. “I thought it was destroyed during the Titan War?”

“Yeah, Krios wiped out a couple of blocks near the Senate during the final assault, but I may have... _dropped_ a sea serpent on the waterfront district a couple years before that.”

“A _sea serpent_?”

“The Titan Army tried to recruit me to be their Prophecy Boy at the beginning of the war. They weren’t happy when I told them to fuck off, so they sent a pair of sea serpents to wreck the city. One of them escaped the bay, which wasn’t supposed to happen,” Percy explained, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. “I killed it before it got too far into the city and caused more damage. The Appian Way folks haven’t been a fan of me ever since.”

“Did you get in trouble for it?”

After the Battle of Manhattan, several rich mortals banded together and decided to sue demigods and Camp Half-Blood for damages incurred to their properties during the battle. That movement had lasted all of five minutes before Zeus decided to nuke the ringleader — a bloviating, rotting pumpkin of a reality TV star — and his ugly tower to teach them all a lesson about being grateful to their godling saviors.

Annabeth couldn’t remember if there had been similar blowback in New Rome at the time, but she doubted it. New Rome had the highest percentage of demigods and legacies in the country, and always ranked number one on any “demigod-friendly” travel or living survey.

“Nah. They elected me _praetor_ after that.”

She gaped at him, not expecting that answer. “You were a _praetor_?”

“For a few years, yeah.” He glanced at her and the puzzlement was clear in his next words. “You really don’t know _anything_ about me, do you?”

“Apparently not,” she replied, staring straight ahead and ignoring the blood rushing to her cheeks. Damn it, why hadn’t she bothered to do any research on him after she got home yesterday? She was an embarrassment to her mother’s name. “When I moved here, I thought I knew everything I needed to about you — or your reputation, at least. I never thought we’d cross paths, so there was no reason for me to do additional research.”

And where had her willful ignorance gotten her? Picking a fight with a former _praetor_ , like a fool. A _praetor_!

Somehow, that fact made her actions yesterday seem even more childish and dangerous. In Annabeth’s mind, she’d been determined to deflate the ego of a brutish and powerful demigod who was hogging her practice field. To their audience in the arena and the rest of the world, she’d threatened a former _head of state_ and goaded him into physical combat. Forget getting herself killed — she probably could’ve been _arrested_.

No wonder Jason had been so annoyed with her. She owed him several more groveling apologies. And probably a bottle or two of his favorite whiskey.

“Never thought I’d see a daughter of Athena admit she didn’t do her homework,” Percy teased and Annabeth’s scowl deepened. “Really, it’s not a bad thing. D’you know how rare it is to meet someone in this city who doesn’t know every detail about me already?”

The sleek downtown office buildings had started to turn into quaint, brightly colored shops and speciality restaurants, their patios biting into the sidewalk space. They were walking much closer together now; Annabeth’s shoulders kept brushing up against Percy’s arm accidentally, but he didn’t seem to mind.  

“Because everyone else living here clearly isn’t an _idiot_ ,” she grumbled, feeling more humiliated by the moment as she recalled her grating behavior yesterday. “Next you’re going to tell me your pal Frank is a senator or something.”

“Well, Frank works with the Senate, but he’s never been a _senator_ … ” Percy said, a hedging tone to his voice that told her she wouldn’t like the rest of his answer one bit.

“You know what? Don’t tell me what he actually does,” Annabeth said, shaking her head. “I feel like enough of a clueless jackass as it without knowing if I threatened another one of New Rome’s elite or not.”

“Frank’s had to deal with worse. You’re hardly the first person who’s interrupted us, you know,” he replied dryly. “So if you’re worried he’s mad at you, don’t be. He practically skipped out of the arena last night after you kicked my ass. Pretty sure he was talking about sending you flowers or a fruit basket or something, too.”

"Why in Athena's name would he do that?"

“Because he would’ve been stuck sparring with me all night if you hadn’t come along. Yesterday wasn’t one of my good days,” he explained. “Sometimes I can be a real bastard until I get beaten into exhaustion. Frank’s one of the few who can handle me when I get like that, but he and I can’t get into knock-down, drag-out fights any more. It’s bad _optics_.”

He sneered the word, as if he’d heard one too many times from condescending PR flacks.

“It can take hours to wear me down to a reasonable level if I have to hold back. A shitty fight will just put me in a worse mood. The jerkoff who recorded our fight was probably the only person happier than Frank in that arena when you turned out to be the real deal.”

Annabeth knew exactly how tiresome it could be to have to keep up with a child of the Big Three when they were in a frenzy. All demigods experienced a bit of battle lust every now and then — the progeny of war gods like Athena and Ares more often than others. But no one experienced it quite as bad as children of the Big Three.

She had spent plenty of time on Camp Half-Blood’s training grounds with the Graces and Nico over the years when they got too aggressive for everyone else. No one else had the patience for it, she’d supposed, or the spine. It had been one of her more frightening duties before the war — staring down her friends and seeing nothing but the fearsome power burning in their eyes.

Percy had looked at her like that yesterday, but she hadn’t been afraid. She’d been _excited_.

“How come you were at a public training field anyway?” she asked. It was a thought that had been nagging her since she’d left the arena. “You’re the most infamous man in the city; there’s no reason you should be interrupted or have people recording your fights to put on the Internet. Shouldn’t you be at a private facility? Or have your own?”

Jason had a membership to a ridiculously fancy (and expensive) training club that boasted it was home to every elite warrior in New Rome on all its promotional literature. He’d brought Annabeth as a guest once; the staff lost any interest in trying to recruit her when they learned she was a daughter of Athena and hadn’t let her anywhere near the combat floors. The thought of returning now and pulling her very own _Pretty Woman_ moment nearly put a smile on her face.

“If I was allowed to, sure,” Percy said, shrugging. “The public fields aren’t all that bad.”

She blinked, surprised. “If you were _allowed_ to? I was under the impression no one told the son of Neptune to do anything.”

“My leash is a bit shorter than you might expect.” He offered her a grim smile. Before she could ask what he meant by _that_ , he paused in front of a small, two-story building and said, “Here we are. See? A real coffee shop. Definitely not a front for a shadowy underwater lair.”

Annabeth had explored downtown New Rome plenty since she’d moved, visiting shops on the weekends with Piper, trying new restaurants over her lunch hour, or sketching some of its more unique buildings. But for the life of her, she couldn’t ever remember seeing this shop before. Not that it’d be hard to overlook, squashed as it was between a bulky speciality weapons store on one side and a pristine fashion house on the other. Judging by it’s peaked gables, it had probably been a house before it had been converted into a coffee shop; it was set back a bit further than it’s neighbors, allowing for space on the lot for a small tree and a deck.

The hanging wooden sign by the door was designed to look an old Roman coin, straight down to Julius Caesar’s profile embossed on it. Caesar was sipping from a coffee cup, his profile surrounded by the words _ET TU BREWTE_ in an old fashioned font.

Annabeth shot Percy an unimpressed look. “Really?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t enjoy a good pun.”

“That’s not a _good_ pun — it’s the worst one I’ve ever seen,” she said, following him as he hopped up the short set of steps and reached for the door.

“But that’s what makes it great,” he insisted, holding the door open for her. “Their coffee is much better than their punning skills. Best place in New Rome, I promise.”

“Well, if you _promise_...”

The interior of Et Tu Brewte looked like most coffee shops Annabeth had visited at first glance — lots of comfy looking furniture in shades of soothing browns and reds, exposed light bulbs dangling artfully from the ceiling, a gleaming coffee bar full of bronzed equipment — but instead of eclectic pieces of art or antiques on the walls, plants bloomed everywhere. They were on tables, from hanging baskets attached to the ceiling and in clear bubble vases on the wall, and pots in the corners; the entire back wall was covered in them, arranged by color and texture so it looked look a swirling mural from afar. Annabeth could immediately picture herself sitting by that wall on a sunlit Saturday, sketching to her heart’s content.

Percy caught her dreamy expression and lifted his eyebrows as if to say _Told ya so._

Despite the fact that shop was fairly crowded for a late Friday morning, Percy’s entrance had hardly drawn any attention. The young man in line in front of them had glanced over his shoulder, clearly bored and looking for some amusement, but his gaze whipped forward the moment he recognized Percy. Other than that, no one seemed particularly bothered by his presence, and Annabeth didn’t think it was because he had called ahead with a warning.

Percy’s eyes had softened to their softest shade of green yet and there was something inexplicably lighter about the way he held himself in the shop versus out on the sidewalk, as if he had dropped some invisible armor. They were still in public, but this shop with it’s stupid name and beautiful plants was clearly his territory. He looked _comfortable_.

It was a look that Annabeth liked. _A lot_. It was the kind of look that made her want to make him even _more_ comfortable by, say, loosening his tie or untucking his dress shirt so she could run her hands over his —

“Oh look,” Percy said sardonically, oblivious to her sultry perusal of his body as he stared at a TV screen planted between the menu boards. “Dickhead Junior’s been deployed to do damage control.”

Annabeth followed his gaze, her desire cooling off instantly at the sight of Jason’s face on ONN. The network was re-airing interview footage from earlier this morning, probably to introduce an upcoming segment featuring a panel of pundits. Jason looked like a stoic, regally handsome robot, as he always did on TV; he lost all his warmth and charisma when he got planted in front of a camera. It drove Piper bananas.

“How do you Greeks stand him?” Percy continued, disdain dripping from every word. Apparently, Jason hadn’t exaggerated about his and Percy’s mutual enmity either.  “His face is just so… _punchable_.”

“He’s not so bad in person.”

Percy made a skeptical noise. “Sure he is. ONN probably wanted him on to critique our fighting styles. It’s not a legitimate fight until the Titan Killer weighs in.”

“Didn’t _you_ kill a Titan?” Annabeth knew for certain that he had; that was the one thing everyone in the city seemed to agree on when it came to the son of Neptune.

“Yeah, but I guess it only counts when you kill the big bad Lord of Time himself.”

“Mmm.” This was not an area of conversation where Annabeth felt comfortable lingering. Thankfully, Jason’s face had been replaced by footage from their fight. She grimaced as a close up of her vicious expression flashed across the screen. “Seriously, don’t they have anything better to talk about?”

“Apparently not,” he said, looking back at her with an expression that made her chest ache. “But I can’t fault their taste. You’re clearly worth talking about.”

One way or another, Annabeth decided, she was going to kiss this man. She’d drag him by the neck of his tie into a shadowy alcove or a supply closet, and kiss him until she was aching, until he agreed to come home with her. She wouldn’t be satisfied until she did.

“Heya Percy!” the brunette teenager at the register chirped, drawing Annabeth’s attention. The girl was already uncapping her marker and reaching for a cup. “Same as usual?”

“You got it, Julia,” he replied as the girl began to scribble on the cup. His hand settled on Annabeth’s lower back again, lingering this time. “I’m paying for hers, too.”

Julia looked up from the cup in surprise, turning her gaze toward Annabeth, as if she’d just noticed her presence.

“No, _I’m_ paying for his,” Annabeth corrected and Percy arched an eyebrow. “What? You’ve already done me a favor today and after all the trouble I caused…”

“I already told you, it’s no big deal. This is supposed to be a pick-me-up for _you_ , remember? My mothe — ”

Julia interrupted with a sharp yelp, dropping her cup so she could clap her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.

“Sweet Vulcan, you’re _her_!” she exclaimed, lowering her hands. “You’re the daughter of Athena!”

Julia’s voice wasn’t that loud, but it carried over the light din of conversation and easy listening music streaming through the cafe. All those regulars who had been too cool to acknowledge the son of Neptune suddenly popped up from behind their computer screens, heads swiveling toward the register in interest.

Good gods. Would Annabeth _never_ stop blushing today?

“Yes,” she said warily. “That’s me, unfortunately.”

Annabeth braced herself for another round of criticism and insults, but Julia apparently had more interest in _fangirling_ than castigating her.

“You were _amazing_ ,” the teen gushed, a flush of her own rising to her cheeks. “I’ve never seen anyone fight like that, let alone a Greek! You’d give Reyna a run for her money and she’s _the best_. The look on Percy’s face when you got him in the chokehold was so _good_ , I can’t even — ”

Percy cleared his throat pointedly and Julia squeaked again, scrambling to grab another cup. “Sorry, sorry! It’s just… _wow_!”

“Huh. I guess I’m going to have to watch that video after all if that look on your face was _that_ good,” Annabeth said, nudging Percy playfully in the shoulder. He scowled at her.

“It’s _hilarious_ ; he looks like a fish! I can’t believe you’re here,” Julia continued to gush. “And with him, of all people!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Percy’s tone was sharp, but not angry. It was the kind of tone one would use with an annoying sibling, not a server who had stepped out of line.

“Your parents are rivals, duh. Everyone knows that. Besides, you’ve been a regular grump lately, ever _after_ your coffee, so I can only imagine what you’re like after getting your ass kicked like that,” Julia said with a haughty sniff only a teenager could pull off. “You better not have _snarled_ at her, Percy.”

“I didn’t,” he said, exasperated, as Annabeth laughed. “Just take her order, Julia. And I’m paying for it, end of story.”

“Fine, fine,” Julia huffed, rolling her eyes. She lost her in sulk in an instant when she addressed Annabeth “What can I get you, Miss Chase?”

Percy grumbled something about _disrespectful teens_ under his breath as Annabeth perused the menu board, holding back a smile. “I’ll take a medium chai tea latte, please. With whipped cream.”

“Toss a couple of those chocolate croissants on there too, will ya?” Percy said, pulling out his wallet and handing over his card as Julia rang up their drinks.

“Got it. We’ll bring them out to you in a few minutes!”

Percy led her away from the counter and toward the sun-dappled table and comfy arm chairs next to the plant wall that Annabeth had been fixated on earlier. A college student was already sitting there, legs propped up over the arm of the chair as she watched something on her tablet, but once she noticed the son of Neptune headed her way, she scrambled out of the chair and fled deeper into the coffee shop get out of the way.

It was a startling contrast to Julia’s easy attitude, a reminder that not everyone was as comfortable with Percy’s presence.

“I can’t believe the big bad son of Neptune lets teenager baristas snark at him,” Annabeth said as she slid into the chair closest to the window. "Seems out of character."

“Julia’s the only one who can get away with it. I’ve known her since she was six,” Percy explained, sitting next to her. She shrugged out of her cardigan, grateful to get it off after their walk. “Her parents own this place, but she used to be Terminus’ assistant when I was in the legion. He was always coming after me for one rule infraction or another, so she and I got pretty well acquainted.”   

“And here I was, thinking your reputation might just be the _tiniest_ bit exaggerated,” she said, tossing her hair over one shoulder. She was keenly aware of Percy’s eyes tracing the fall of her curls down the neckline of her dress to the curves of her breasts.

Annabeth had never been particularly adept at casual flirting — not that she hadn’t practiced. Frankly, she found a matter-of-fact approach to be more effective and efficient than a flirtation when she wanted to get laid. Relationships, however, required a bit more finesse. It had annoyed her to no end that mortal Dave had thought it was _cute_ how bad she was at flirting with him, like she was some kind of elementary school student with her first crush instead of an adult woman. It had never occurred to him that she just wasn’t _trying_.

But _damn it_ if the son of Neptune wasn’t making her see the value in a good flirtation. She wanted to meet each of his little teasing comments and lingering glances with one of her own, to build on the delightful tension between them; playing the game made the thought of the end result even more desirous.

“Maybe some of it is,” he acknowledged, his voice rough. His gaze had drifted down to her exposed thighs and when he looked up, his eyes were full of _want_ once more. “But not the important parts.”

Percy stretched out, crossing his long legs at the ankles; the move caused the denim of his to stretch over his muscled thighs and, if the heady smirk he shot in her direction was any indication, he knew exactly how much she appreciated that.

“And which parts would those be?” she said, propping her chin on her hand.

Percy paused, considering her thoughtfully.

“The rumors about my relentlessness… those _are_ true. I don’t give up on something I want,” he said with deliberate, delicious slowness. “Or someone.”

If any other man had said that to her with even a fraction of Percy’s arrogance, Annabeth would’ve laughed and dismissed him without a thought.

She didn’t doubt Percy.

His confidence wasn’t a front, something she could puncture with a few well chosen words, an eye roll, or, even, a strong right hook. It was very real and she was stupidly attracted to him because of it. It was exhilarating to have someone as sure of himself and his place in the world be interested in _her_.

And that was what made him such a threat.

Annabeth knew better than to trust something as fickle as _attraction_ , but sitting across from this sinfully handsome man and the temptation he offered, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“I won’t make things easy for you.”

“I believe I already told you I welcome a challenge.”

From within the depths of Annabeth’s bag, "Danger Zone's" guitar riff began to play — appropriate, given that she was about to throw herself into danger’s arms. It was an effective break in the mood. Sometimes she swore Jason had a damn sixth sense about these things.

“Nice ringtone,” Percy said, amused, as she hastily reached for her bag and started to dig for her phone. “ _Top Gun_ fan?”

“No. I only keep set as this because he hates it. Used to be his nickname at camp when he was more of a troublemaker.”

He arched a dark eyebrow. “He?”

“Your buddy, Dickhead Junior,” Annabeth replied, flashing him the phone’s screen so he could see the photo ID just before the call went to voicemail. “He’s been handling the press for me today. Probably just calling to check in and see how I’m doing…”

She trailed off with a frown as Jason’s face reappeared and her phone began to ring again. He usually left a voicemail or sent her a message if he couldn’t get ahold of her right away. He wouldn’t call back immediately unless something serious had happened.

“D’you need to take that?”

“Probably,” she said apologetically. “It shouldn’t take more than a minute, I promise.”

“It’s not a problem,” Percy said, rising from his chair. “I’ll just go check and see how those drinks of ours are coming along.”

“Thank you,” Annabeth said, answering Jason’s call. “Hello?”

“Where are you? Are you at work?”

Annabeth balked at Jason’s harsh tone; she hadn’t heard him sound this harried in years. She’d anticipated another exasperated lecture like he’d delivered last night, not this. He couldn’t be _that_ mad about her interaction with the press earlier, could he? They had ambushed her! She didn’t have to be polite to those vultures.Or… had he somehow found she was with Percy, after his explicit instructions to stay away from him?

It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility, she decided as she took a discreet glance around the coffee shop. Any one of these people could’ve taken a photo of the two of them and thrown it on Twitter and Instagram in seconds, as could have anyone on the street they’d passed who had recognized them. But surely it would take an hour or two before any photos gained enough traction to land on Jason’s desk?

And anyway, Jason could go screw himself if _that_ was what he was pissed about. Annabeth was an adult who had properly assessed the situation and made an informed decision.

“No, I’m getting coffee,” Annabeth said, deciding she wouldn’t mention _who_ she was getting coffee with unless he brought it up. “Why, do you need something?”

“Give me the address. I’m sending a car to pick you up.”

Her brow furrowed. “What? No. Why would you need to do that?”

“Annabeth — ”

“Look, if you saw that press ambush earlier, I’m fine. Someone already took care of that for me.”

Her eyes darted over to Percy, who was leaning on the counter and razzing Julia. Two coffee cups sat near his elbow. 

“It’s about to get a lot worse,” Jason said grimly. “I need you here, Annabeth. They _know_.”

Jason wasn’t _angry_ , she realized suddenly, sitting up straight. He was _afraid_ , which was almost worse. There was only thing that involved the two of them that he'd be afraid of the press uncovering. But he couldn’t be talking about — the press _couldn’t_ have —

Icy dread began to slither through her veins.

_Could they?_

“Know what, Jason?” she asked, her throat dry. She had to hear him say it.

“About Kronos. And which one of us _actually_ killed him.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE!
> 
> Massive apologies for the wait between updates. I had a very busy summer and I ended up re-writing the second scene of this fic about 12 times. This part was (once again) originally going to be longer, but I came to a few natural stopping points and decided to post it as it. Don't worry: there will be some actual percabeth and smut in Part Five, I swear. 
> 
> This shouldn't be a surprise since it's been listed on the fic since the beginning, but since ship age differences are the discourse topic du jour on tumblr these days... In Parts Four and Five, we're going to delve into Annabeth's previous relationship with Luke, a relationship she still has complicated feelings about despite it ending, uh, badly. I don't think anything in this part needs a warning, so this is more or a less a heads up to expect it.

The summer Annabeth fell in love was the beginning of the end of the world.

She’d been two months away from 17, colossally arrogant and determined to prove her worth with the unstoppable fierceness that came with being a teenager. Finding love was not a priority. It was a distant milepost on the map of her grand life plan, and she — a child of clean logic and academia and sparking grey matter — had little interest in the messy matters of the heart.

Naturally, that was when Luke Castellan had wandered back into her life.

At the time, Luke hadn’t been much more than a longing afterthought, a secret _what if?_ she didn’t dare give serious attention to. She’d always admired and adored Luke, but he’d forever been out of her reach, even before he left camp and became popular in the moral world. Now, he was unattainable, and certainly wouldn’t look twice at his kid sidekick with the silly crush he’d left behind.

Luke was the silly daydream of a little girl, not a serious and determined teenager with a spine of steel.

Until one day, he wasn’t.

A failed quest. A new scar. Waning popularity and mortal friends showing their true colors. A return to the safe haven of his youth, to those who would always care.

A return to the girl who still admired him after failure, who still wanted to impress him and earn his favor; the girl who foolishly held a small flicker of hope in her neglected heart.

The girl who wasn’t so little any more.

One day, he looked twice.

And the end of the world crept closer.

 

+

 

“Need a refill?”

“What?” Annabeth glanced up as her friend entered the room, startled. Piper Mclean-Grace nodded toward the pile of cardboard and styrofoam on the dark wood of the coffee table — all that remained of Annabeth’s latte from Et Tu Brewte. She shook her head, pushing the ruined cup away from her. “No, that’s okay. I’m fine. Probably had too much caffeine already, honestly. I’m just… just…”

She threw up her hands, at a loss to describe the maelstrom of emotions and memories building inside her. The fact that her anxiety had only led her to shred the cup was pretty good, all things considered. She was struggling to build up her walls, to shove those emotions into their familiar compartments until the crisis had passed, which only added to her frustration. But she supposed even daughters of Athena couldn’t be completely level headed when their world was minutes away from imploding.

“Don’t I know it,” Piper said, flopping onto the leather couch across from Annabeth. “This is a real mess.”

Annabeth grimaced and started to apologize, but a dark look from the other woman shut her up. She’d done nothing but apologize since she’d arrived at the embassy, despite Piper telling her there was nothing to apologize for. She was clearly sick of hearing it now, so Annabeth tried for a different track.

“I can’t believe they won’t let you in there,” she said, indicating the closed door to Jason’s study. “You’re the embassy communications director. You should be the one hammering this deal out, not Jason.”

“Again, tell me something I don’t know,” Piper grumbled. “Jason already got an earful from me about it before you got here, but I guess they only agreed to negotiate if I stayed away. Apparently, there were concerns about sabotage and that I’d Charmspeak them into forgetting about the story entirely.”

Annabeth arched an eyebrow. “You’d do that?”

“If it lasted more than a few hours? Most definitely,” she said. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve used Charmspeak to squash a story before it starts gaining momentum. It’s much more effective to tell them to destroy whatever notes or footage they have instead. _Then_ you tell them to forget about it when they call to scream at you for being a conniving witch.”

“I still don’t think they have anything,” Annabeth said, absently reaching for the shredded coffee cup pieces again. “They just _can’t_ , Piper.”

Logically, Annabeth knew that Jason wouldn’t be meeting with ONN’s top brass and one of their best reporters right now if whatever story they had wasn’t rock solid. But Annabeth’s reaction was always the same whenever this topic reared its ugly head: clinging to denial for as long as she safely could.

The rumors and conspiracy theories about the “real” killer of Kronos had started almost as soon as she and Jason had exited the Empire State Building that day seven years ago. Reddit and other corners of the Internet were full of amatuer sleuths trying to solve the mystery or explain away the inconsistencies in the Great Prophecy. If mainstream outlets had an occasional reporter or two looking into the rumors just for the sake of protective coverage, they kept quiet about it. No one wanted to be the one that accused the Hero of Olympus of being a _liar_ without significant proof.

Unfortunately for all the would-be and professional detectives out there, only three people knew _exactly_ what had happened in Olympus’s throne room the day Kronos was defeated. One of them was dead, and there was no incentive for either Jason or Annabeth to talk to the media.

They’d told a handful of people the truth after all the godly proclamations and celebrations were over, and only unanswered questions and hurt remained. Annabeth had never expected Jason to keep this kind of secret from Piper or Leo, and she hadn’t been able to it from Chiron either. The cabin heads deserved to know what happened as well — Luke had been one of them before he turned, after all. It’d be a risk, but none of them were the sort to blab to the press, even after Annabeth blew up her friendships in a self-destructive fury a year or two later.  

The former leaders of Camp Half-Blood might not care about Annabeth, but they all respected Jason far too much to hurt him like that.

Well, all of them except one.

“It was Clarisse, wasn’t it?” Annabeth said after Piper said nothing, her agitation increasing. “It had to be her. She was never okay with this. She said I was _weak_ , letting him walk all over me like that, remember? Just like with — ”

Piper gently placed her hand over Annabeth’s and pulled the coffee cup out of her grasp.

“Clarisse should’ve never said those things — and I don’t think she would’ve if she’d known just how badly you were hurting,” Piper interrupted calmly, but her kaleidoscope eyes were bright with fury. “I don’t think any of us really understood it at the time, but looking back…”

Piper trailed off, but she didn’t need to finish. Annabeth knew exactly what she would have said.

Had Annabeth taken the credit for ending Kronos — for killing _Luke_ — seven years ago, the scrutiny and public attention would have certainly killed her.

Clarisse had never understood that. Even from the early days at camp, she’d resented Jason for being a glory hog, for constantly getting more attention than the rest of them because he was a son of Zeus. To her, Jason taking credit for killing Kronos was the last straw, a prime example of the godly favoritism they’d just fought an entire _war_ over. And Annabeth? Annabeth was the pathetic enabler who’d do anything to keep the son of Zeus happy and by her side, even if he didn’t want her there any more.

Never mind that she and Jason had played equal roles in the end. Never mind that Annabeth had _begged_ him to say he’d been the one to do it. For Clarisse, the whole thing was just another opportunity to expose Jason as an overhyped fraud.

“She’s kept quiet all this time. Why say anything now? Why couldn’t she just let it go?”

“This is Clarisse we’re talking about. She could give Nico a run for the money in the grudge holding department,” Piper said. “And anyway, we don't know for sure it was her who blabbed. With that fight of yours plastered everywhere, it could’ve been anyone. _I_ had half the mind to call a few of my contacts and let it slip after some of the shit they were saying on the morning shows.”

Of course. _Of course_ it would come back to that goddamn video. What wasn’t it going to ruin?

The conspiracy theorists had never gained any serious traction over the years partly because none of them _really_ believed a daughter of Athena was strong or skilled enough to take down a Titan. Her presence on Mount Olympus over during the final battle had always been a source of confusion, the one thing that never made sense to even the casual observers. A popular theory was that she had been a hostage Jason had rescued, mostly because Annabeth hadn’t had a high public profile until the last few weeks of the war and footage of her in action was limited… until now.

She’d given them all the proof they’d ever need. Anyone who could keep up with a child of the Big Three years after the war certainly had it in her to face a Titan.

“That flattering, were they?”

“The New York-based ones have been okay, but I’d recommend avoiding the Roman outlets altogether. They’ve been pretty vicious, though they’re starting to direct some of it at the son of Neptune now. Speaking of him…” Piper turned the shredded remains of the coffee cup over where a phone number and the name _Percy_ were written on the side in thick black ink. “You wanna explain this?”

Annabeth flushed; she hadn’t even noticed that until now. “I… I might have been getting coffee with him when Jason called?”

“What, seriously? What’d he want?”

“To talk, mostly. Not that we got to do much of that before I ran out of there.”

“How… _normal_ of him,” Piper said, tossing the piece on to the table. “Jason was convinced he’d try to have you murdered by the end of the day.”

“He wouldn’t — he _liked_ that I kicked his ass, Piper. It’s everyone else here that has a problem with it.” Annabeth stared at the bold numbers and the scrawl of Percy’s name. Had he written that on there before or after she’d freaked out and fled the coffee shop? Would he answer if she called? “He’s not what I expected.”

“Cute, isn’t he?”

She let out a laugh, recalling Percy’s striking features and the delicious intensity he exuded. “Cute is _not_ the word I would use.”

“Yeah, whatever. Tall, dark, and full of attitude really isn’t my flavor.” Piper paused to survey Annabeth for a moment; she hoped whatever remained of her embarrassed flush had disappeared. Apparently it hadn’t, because Piper’s next words were full of caution. “You need to be careful around him, Annabeth.”

Annabeth rolled her eyes, a surge of irritation sweeping through her. She’d been eager to distract herself from talk of Kronos and Luke — but not if this was the other option. “Your husband already gave me this lecture. I don’t need to hear it again.”

“Just hear me out, okay? I’ve watched the way Percy Jackson moves through New Roman society. He’s smart and charming — and I’ll admit, pretty damn handsome — but he’s a calculating, manipulative asshole underneath it all. I mean, he’s not _evil_ or anything, but he is not a good guy. If he’s seeking you out, he definitely has other motives besides wanting to talk.”

“I know what he wants: _sex_ ,” she said, picking up the piece of cardboard with Percy’s number on it. “I’m not an idiot, Piper.”

“No, but you’ve got a blind spot for guys like him, Annabeth. He’s not good for you.”

Annabeth frowned, clenching the cardboard piece in her hand. She had told herself all of this already about Percy Jackson. Despite the glimmers of normalcy he’d displayed, she _knew_ he was exactly the type of man she didn’t need if she wanted to keep her stable, normal little life in one piece. It irritated her that Piper and Jason both seemed to think she couldn’t handle him, that she was some sort of fragile little girl he could break in a night or two.

It wasn't long ago that Piper could’ve used the same words to describe Annabeth. Sheh had become a master at collecting information and using people to get what she wanted during the war; she’d always known the right things to say or do, how to play people for her own benefit or against each other, and then stab them in the back when she was finished. Annabeth had never been called charming, though — just _ruthless_.

She’d lost some of her edge since then — the old Annabeth, for instance, wouldn’t have let Eastman dismiss her without a fight nor would she be sitting around, anxiously tearing up coffee cups while _Jason_ negotiated her future — but that part of her still existed, still bubbled to the surface every now and then. Had her friends forgotten who she was?

If they had, it was understandable, Annabeth thought bitterly. She had, after all, forgotten first.

Jason’s office door rattled and swung open suddenly, causing all thoughts of the son of Neptune to slide right out of her head. Annabeth froze as several people, including a camera man, poured out of the office, but Piper leapt to her feet and strode over, her heels clicking furiously on the wooden floor.

“ — excellent, can't wait to talk the whole thing through on camera tomorrow,” a familiar looking brunette woman with a distinctive Texas drawl said to Jason as he escorted her out of the office. She heard Piper approach and flashed her a triumphant, shark-like smile. “Piper, _there_ you are. We have _so_ much to hash out, dear.”

“Is that so, Margot?” Piper shot an indecipherable look at her husband before focusing on the woman, turning on that extra spark of Aphrodite magic that could make her the center of attention in any room. “Shall we chat about it on your way out?”

“As long as you keep that magic of yours to yourself,” Margot said, all saccharine sweetness. Her tone was so familiar. Where had Annabeth heard it before? “Not that it matters. I gave my producers plenty of backups, just in case I _somehow_ manage to forget the story of the decade.”

“Your resourcefulness is just so admirable,” Piper shot back blandly. This probably wasn’t the first time she’d had this conversation with Margot. She pulled out her phone and glanced at the screen. “Jason just sent me the basics of what you and he agreed to, but he’ll be consulting with Miss Chase here shortly, so don’t get too comfortable with this schedule.”

Piper gestured for the group to follow her out of the room; the ONN executives and the camera man complied, but Margot, her attention piqued at the mention of Annabeth’s name, peered around Piper’s shoulder, delight blooming across her face when she spotted Annabeth in the waiting room.

“ _You_ must be Annabeth,” Margot said, pushing past Piper and hurrying over to where Annabeth was sitting. She held out a hand. “It’s a real _honor_ to meet you. I didn’t think Jason was going to introduce us before our interview tomorrow; that boy does love to keep me on my toes.”

Annabeth started at Margot’s outstretched hand uncomprehendingly — an interview? What in Hades name was she talking about? — and then glanced up at the woman’s face. At the sight of the wide, fake smile on Margot’s lips, recognition hit Annabeth like a lightning bolt.

This was Margot Keyes, the mortal co-anchor of the _Lochte & Keyes _ nightly news block on ONN. She was known for her scathing social commentary and viral rants more so than her investigative reports, but she somehow always managed to get her hands on juicy, blockbuster stories before anyone else. Margot had gotten her start more than a decade earlier as a talking head on a trashy gossip show focused on demigod celebrities and their exploits; Annabeth could still remember some of the more awful things the woman in front of her had said about her friends back in the day.

 _Margot Keyes_ had been the one to uncover the truth about Kronos? Annabeth’s stomach dropped.

“You don’t look like much of a Titan Killer,” Margot continued blithely, unbothered by Annabeth’s lack of response. “Don’t let that cut your cheek heal up before tomorrow; it’ll give you a tough edge that viewers will just eat up — ”

“Miss Keyes,” Jason said, appearing at Margot’s side, warning in his voice. His eyes were an icy shade of blue. “Like we agreed, you’ll have your chance to speak to Annabeth tomorrow. She’s unavailable right now.”

“Oh, you’re _such_ a buzzkill, Jason. I just wanted to say _hi_ ,” the anchor trilled, but she didn’t push try to test Jason’s temper any further. She turned away and shot Annabeth a sharp smile over her shoulder as walked back to a furious Piper. “See you tomorrow, my darling demigods!”

“Jason,” Annabeth hissed as soon as Margot started chattering to Piper. “ _What_ — ”

“Not here,” he muttered, jerking his head toward his office. He offered Annabeth a hand and helped her to feet, guiding her inside the other room.

As soon as he’d shut the door, Annabeth whirled on him. “What’s going on? Why does she think she gets to interview me? I’m not talking to her — I’m not talking to anyone!”

Jason leaned against the door, rubbing his forehead with one hand, exhaustion written all over his face. Annabeth felt a pang of pity for him, but it was quickly drowned out by her rising anxiety and fear.

“Margot gets exclusive first interviews with us in exchange for ONN waiting until tonight to break the story,” he explained. “It’s the best deal I could talk them into. They were going to run it with or without my confirmation as soon as possible, and I need a few hours to — ”

“You _confirmed_ it?” she interrupted, aghast. “Why? She could’ve been lying!”

“She wasn’t.” Jason pushed himself off the door and walked over to his desk, casually shuffling some folders. “She’s been on the story for a while; she was bothering me before you even moved to New Rome. I ignored her, but her most recent emails… she knows details she shouldn’t about you and Luke. And the knife.”

Annabeth flinched, barely stopping herself from reflexively reaching back and touching her knife. It was a bad habit she’d gotten into, for she could always feel that precious bit of Celestial Bronze pressed against her skin, but sometimes she needed the extra level of reassurance that it was still there, that it hadn’t been dropped or stolen since the last time she’d touched it.

Her knife was the true cursed blade of prophecy. Jason’s sword, a non-descript gladius, had served as its public substitute; it gleamed almost accusingly at her from where it hung on the wall above Jason’s desk.

“I don’t care what she knows. We can lean on her sources, get them to recant. Say it was all part of an agenda to discredit you and destabilize your position with…” She trailed off as Jason shot her a pitying look. “What? You think that won’t work? Because I’ll _make_ whoever it is — ”

“It won’t matter,” he replied, sinking into his chair. “She has video, Annabeth.”

“Video? Of what?” Her chest tightened with dread.

“Of us. Afterward. I guess the throne room’s cameras were destroyed, but apparently Hermes CCTV was still rolling while we were waiting for the elevator.”

Annabeth’s knees buckled and she reached out, grabbing onto one of the chairs in front of Jason’s desk for support. “ _What_?”

The war hadn’t stopped the moment Annabeth had plunged the knife into Luke’s side and Kronos had been sent back to Tartarus in pieces. On the ground, the Battle of Manhattan kept raging on as the gods attempted to subdue Typhon and Camp Half-Blood’s forces worked to keep Kronos’s minions from inflicting any more damage on the city. She and Jason had carried Luke’s body down from Mount Olympus to prove he was dead and bring the fighting to a standstill.

The elevator had taken an eternity to return to the top and Annabeth had cradled Luke’s slowly cooling body the entire time, brushing his hair back from his face as tears silently tracked down her cheeks. Jason had watched them in silence, until the elevator _dinged_ and the golden doors slid open.

_“Hey. We gotta go,” Jason said, stepping toward her, exhaustion and grief written on every inch of his body. “Let me take him.”_

_Annabeth’s hold on Luke’s body tightened unconsciously. He looked so peaceful in death, more than she ever remembered him being in life, and she couldn’t stand to see him disturbed. Could he ever had found that peace with her? Maybe. If she’d just been strong enough to save him… if she’d just seen how much he was hurting…_

_This was all her fault._

_“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Jason, I can’t.”_

_“‘Beth, you just have to let go,” he replied, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ll carry him from here, I swear.”_

_“That’s not…” She swallowed down a sob and whispered, “Don’t tell them I killed him.”_

_Jason’s eyes widened. “What?”_

_“Please. I’m — I’m not a hero; I failed so many people… Luke, especially.” Annabeth squeezed her eyes shut, but even that couldn’t block out the blankness on her ex-lover’s face. “I can’t bear this.”_

_“Of course you’re a hero.”_

_“I don’t want this. I never wanted_ this _.” Her body began to shake with sobs. “It’s already killing me, Jason. I won’t last — I’m just not strong enough. Please don’t tell them.”_

_Jason stared at her opening, a multitude of emotions passing over his face — hatred, uncertainty, greed, love. Finally, he hardened his expression and squared his shoulders. “All right. We’ll tell them I did it. Is that okay?”_

_Annabeth nodded, tears frantically pouring down her face. She was holding on to Luke’s body so tightly that her arms and hands ached._

_“I need you — I need to you say it, Annabeth. Just so we’re both sure this what you really want.”_

_“Yes. Tell them... tell them you did it.”_

The thought of there being _footage_ of those horrible moments, of anyone but Jason seeing her so utterly broken and vulnerable, made her want to vomit.

“Today was the first time I’d heard about,” he continued. “I don’t know how she got it, but I convinced her producers to let us watch it first. They won’t run anything we don’t like.”

Annabeth laughed bitterly, knuckles turning white where she gripped the chair. “And you believe them? That was always meant to be just between us. And Luke. What if I don’t want them to air any of it?”

“They didn’t give me a lot of choices, Annabeth, and I needed time more than anything else,” Jason said, clear frustration seeping into his tone now. “What’d you want me to do, tell them to fuck off and shove them out the door? It’s that kind of attitude that got us to this point in the first place.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It _means_ we wouldn’t have this problem if you’d kept your ego in check yesterday!” he snapped, blue eyes flashing with a fury that surprised her. “Challenging the son of Neptune and showing off like that… you had to have known it would draw attention in the worst sort of way.”

“I already told you, I didn’t know who he was.” Jason let out a loud scoff that stoked Annabeth’s own irritation. “I _didn’t_. And I certainly didn’t know someone was going to record the damn thing! Even if I had, how would I’ve had known it would matter? _You_ didn’t tell me anyone was looking into the Kronos story!”

“There’s always someone looking into it, you know that.”

“But not someone like _Margot Keyes_!” Annabeth interrupted, her voice cracking with anger. She let go of the chair and paced across the room. “You know I would’ve done anything to keep this from coming out. You said she’s been emailing you for _months_ , and this — this! — is the first time you told me anything about it. Why is that?”

Jason’s lips were pressed into a thin line, making the scar on his upper lip stand out more prominently. There was a hint of ozone in the air, and she was a surprised he hadn’t started sparking yet. “Because what she had initially wasn’t worth bothering you about. You always stick your head in the sand and tell me to handle it every time this comes up, so that’s what I’ve been doing — _handling it_.”

At last, Annabeth recognized the other emotion burning in Jason’s eyes. She knew she’d asked him to shoulder a great burden, to use his strength to make up for her many weaknesses seven years ago. She’d always suspected that he’d resented her for it — for being the blemish in his otherwise golden life, the terrible secret he always had to clean up after. It didn’t give her any pleasure to have that suspicion confirmed now, when she needed him to be steady and fair.

“I didn’t tell you to keep me in the dark or make decisions for me; I expected to be included when it mattered. And _this_ matters more than anything,” she said heatedly, pointing an accusing finger at him. “This affects my life just as much as yours, Jason.”

“Oh, and what a life _that_ is.”

His nasty comment hit her like a slap in the face, stopping her in her tracks.

How could he say that to her? Jason knew how she’d struggled, how much her past failures still weighed her down. She’d lost everything and had hit rock bottom; it had taken everything she had to claw her way out and to try to make her life worth something again.

She might not have Jason fame or a prestigious position or a loving spouse, but what she _did_ have was just important to her. The idea that he looked down on her for that filled her with hollow despair. What else did he want from her?

“None of this has been easy for me, Annabeth. _You_ haven’t made it easy for me. I’m an ambassador now, and I have more important things to deal with than your issues.” Jason clearly had more to say, but he visibly stopped himself from continuing, trying to get a control on his anger. He ran a hand through his hair, discharged static electricity with a light crackle, and then let the bland, neutral mask he used during negotiations slam down over his face. “We can discuss this later. Right now, we need to focus on crafting a statement for other media agencies. And then you’ll need to be prepped for our meeting with Roman leadership in an hour and tomorrow’s interview on ONN. You’ll probably need increased security, so — ”

“No,” Annabeth interrupted stiffly. “I’m not doing any of that.”

Jason blinked. The thought that she would refuse to participate in what he’d set up had probably never crossed his mind; she had, after all, gone along with his every suggestion in the past. Hell, she’d even moved to New Rome at his urging — and now she knew why he was so eager to have her close by, didn’t she? He could manage her better when she was in the same city than across the country.

Gods, she was so _tired_ of all of this — of being managed, of being treated like a liability by a man who was practically her brother. Most of all, she was tired of feeling _guilty_ for fucking up, for letting the mortal blood that flowed through her veins weaken her.

“Annabeth, don’t be — ”

“Difficult? Sorry, I thought that’s what you were _used to_.” She planted her hands on the front of Jason’s desk and leaned forward, meeting his electric blue gaze. “You never had to say _yes_. If you wanted things to be easy, if you didn’t want to deal with all of this, with _me_ … you should have told me no. But you _didn’t_ , Jason Grace. You said yes, and then _you_ made the choice to build your life around a lie. You don’t get to act like a long-suffering martyr now and blame me after you benefited from it for years.”

Annabeth pushed off the desk and whirled around, her entire body trembling. Jason’s chair creaked as he stood. “Where are you going?”

“Home. You probably already got that statement written the way you want, and you can certainly handle explaining this to the Romans on your own, _Mr. Ambassador_. I’m sure that’ll be so much easier for you than having me around to complicate things with my issues.”

Jason called her name again, but Annabeth she yanked his office door open and stormed out, heading toward the exit. She passed Piper, who was coming back up the stairs, and ignored her surprised inquiry as she rushed past.

Somewhere, in the depths of her anger and the hollowness carving out a space in her chest, she recognized that she was was doing exactly what Jason had accused her of — letting her ego cause more trouble for everyone involved — but _gods be damned_ , she refused to feel sorry about it. She’d spent enough time wallowing in her guilt for things she couldn’t control.

In another world, maybe, Jason had slayed the Lord of Time on his own and had rightfully earned the title of Hero of Olympus.

In another time, maybe, an upstart daughter of Athena hadn’t stolen the glory prophesied for him and given him a shadow of it in return.

But in this world, she had.

And it was about time both of them came to terms with that.

 

+

 

Falling in love with Luke had been the easy part.

Falling  _out_ of love with him… well. He made that much harder.

During the summer before the end of the world, Luke taught her a lot of things. She became a better swordswoman at his urging, matching him step-for-step and swing-for-swing in the training arena, until she could take down Greek and Roman demigods of any parentage. They played war games together, strategizing and plotting until the wee hours of the night, and ran secret missions to smuggle booze and other contraband into camp.

He taught her how it felt to be the center of someone’s universe for the first time in her life; how to kiss (properly, with tongue) and how heavy the infamous light fingers of a son of Hermes could feel when slipped under her clothes; how to be a vulnerable fool in love, leaving her heart unguarded and ripe for the taking.

How to lie in the most cruel fashion possible.

How to use someone and get away with it, undetected, for _months_.

 

+

 

Someone had painted a trident on Annabeth’s apartment door in the hours since she’d left for work.

Whoever had painted it had done so in a hurry — the trident was messy and uneven, and the paint had dribbled in several spots. The damn thing took up the entire length of her door, making it impossible to ignore, and the smell of spray paint lingered in the hallway.

Annabeth wasn’t sure if was meant as a mocking message or a threat, but the sight of it put her in an even worse mood. She was already keyed up for a fight; let some punk ass Neptune groupie try and attack her at home. She’d make an example of them.

No one was waiting for her in her apartment, however, and no one dropped by as the afternoon hours crawled by.

Annabeth had half-expected Jason to show up, even after her outburst at the embassy, but neither he, Piper, or any of their respective staff did. She supposed he had more important things to do than run after her and convince her to play ball, which did nothing to dissipate the hollow aching in her chest.

They might’ve tried to call her, but she’d shut off her phone as soon as she’d left the embassy and kept it tucked into the depths of her purse, out of sight, but certainly not out of mind. She kept the TV off and nudged her laptop under her bed, but turned her radio on to a station that played a lot of furious rock and had little use for small talk in-between commercials to keep the silence from overwhelming her as she waited for _Lochte & Keyes _ to air.

She _almost_ wished a reporter would come knocking, just so she’d have someone to light into for a few minutes.

Instead, she settled for stripping out of her dress and heels, wrapping her hands, and wailing on the punching bag she kept hanging in the ceiling of the guest room. She made herself start out slow, warming up her body and focusing on her technique, but her restraint didn’t last long. She wanted to be in control, to feel as powerful as she had yesterday.

She wanted to make _something_ hurt as much as she did.

Annabeth kicked and punched, jabbed and feinted until every muscle screamed at her to stop, until her tears mixed in with her sweat and the pressure in her chest had eased. She caught the swinging bag and pressed her forehead against it, steadying herself.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she panted, closing her eyes and wishing she could be anywhere else but here.

 

+

 

As she padded back to her bedroom, she stepped on a small scrap of cardboard that had spilled out of the pocket of her cardigan and onto her hallway floor.

Annabeth picked it up and look at it for long, exhausted moment. Had she really only talked to the son of Neptune this morning? It already felt so distant, like it had happened to another Annabeth Chase entirely.

She nearly crumpled it up and tossed it into the garbage bin. But something made her hesitate.

_“I’ve never fought against anyone like you. You’re… breathtaking.”_

She took the scrap into her bedroom, awash in the red gold of the evening sun, and sat on the edge of her bed, staring at his messy scrawl until the sweat had dried on her body and the shadows began to length in her room.

_“I can’t fault their taste. You’re clearly worth talking about.”_

She started reaching for her purse before she’d even realized she’d made a decision; she had one more moment of doubt, but it was gone as soon as she had her phone in hand.

_“I don’t give up on something I want. Or someone.”_

She pressed the power button and the screen lit up a few seconds later. The messages start coming in as soon as the phone is fully powered on — the dozens upon dozens from her old friends at Camp Half-Blood, from Piper and Jason, from her father, and a number with a New York area code who might be one of her ex-boyfriends — but she ignored them all, opening up a new message and typing in the number she already memorized.

**_Still curious about me?_ **

It didn't take long for Percy Jackson to reply.

 

+

 

It wasn’t until much later (far, far too late) that she’d learn the most important lesson of all from Luke.

Sometimes, the cracks that fractured a man couldn’t be fixed.

Sometimes, broken men didn’t  _want_  to be fixed.

And in those cases… it was best to run away before they shattered you right alongside them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was dragging my heels with updating this chapter, a lot of awesome [people](http://eniles.tumblr.com/post/162622256448/bruh-i-am-obsessed-with-greenconverses-roman-au) [uploaded](https://purelyaimless.tumblr.com/post/160507092807/romanpercabeth) [FAN](https://purelyaimless.tumblr.com/image/163412922997) [ART!](https://whiffingbooks.tumblr.com/post/165646565645/a-tribute-to-greenconverses-for-the-exceptionally) for this AU. I am constantly overwhelmed by the love you all show for this fic. Thank you.


	5. Part Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reasons why this chapter took so long to produce: 1) I was diagnosed with mild depression last winter and spent some time being useless while I was adjusting to meds. 2) I forgot how to write at some point while that was going on. 3) I struggled a lot with the tone of this chapter. Almost every scene was re-written three to four times. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for sticking around and leaving all those wonderful comments, asking me things on tumblr, producing art, or donating to my ko-fi. I appreciate all of you so much. <3
> 
> Just a reminder, in case you need a warning, this chapter deals a lot with Annabeth and Luke's relationship, so if age differences aren't your tea... sorry!

The Grand Eagle Lounge wasn’t so much _grand_ as it was a dingy hole-in-the-wall that’s better days were decades in the past.

Built into one of the remaining vaults of an old stone bridge in New Rome’s terrace district, the bar had been designed with elegance in mind. The original art deco wall lights were still in place, as was the large chandelier hanging from the peak of the arched ceiling, and intricate gold trim still clung to the large oak bar in spots where it had survived drunk patrons’ attempts to pry it off. Hints of elegant wallpaper poked through the layers of posters for old gladiator fights, concerts, and legion recruitment drives.

But that past was buried under a heavy layer of grime and neglect, easy to overlook and dismiss in the jumble of the Eagle’s current state.

The floor was always sticky, even in the spots where threadbare carpet had been installed, and the hideous vinyl booths in the main room were stained with years of booze and Dionysus knew what else. None of the barstools matched and, most likely, had been stolen from other bars throughout The Eagle’s long history. Behind the bar, a great gilded mirror was covered with fluorescent liquid chalk that listed out the weekly specials and the occasional lewd joke in Latin.

The Eagle was a only a few blocks away from Annabeth’s apartment and, while it wouldn’t have been her first choice of bar, it had grown on her since she’d moved to New Rome. The staff was friendly, but kept their noses out of their patrons’ business. Plus, there wasn’t a single TV in the entire establishment, which made it ideal on a night like tonight.

It was still early enough that The Eagle was relatively empty when Annabeth walked in — just a few of the usuals in their normal places, making small talk as the bar staff prepared for the rush of college students and legionnaires that would descend in a couple hours. She walked swiftly past them toward the back of the bar, pulling her Yankees hat just a bit lower over her eyes as she did.

Unfortunately, the hat no longer made her invisible; it had lost all its magic years ago, around the same time Annabeth had fallen out of her mother’s favor.

Just like everything else, her relationship with Athena had deteriorated after the war. Not that they had ever been particularly close to begin with, but throughout her childhood, Annabeth had gotten attention and care that other demigods often didn’t. She was Athena’s pride and joy, the best of her daughters — the _favorite_.

 _“You don’t need_ my _help to be invisible anymore, it seems_.”

Annabeth had never understood how precarious her position as the favorite truly was until she was already starting to topple. She’d re-enrolled in college just a month after the Battle of Manhattan was settled and immediately began to struggle with the expectation of being _normal_. She couldn’t adjust to a quiet, civilian life, especially not on top of the academic demands of attending a high pressure, prestigious school.  

Athena had popped by through all of it, offering unhelpful criticism instead of support and heaping on more pressure instead of easing her daughter’s burden. Annabeth had snapped the night her mother announced she’d told the Olympian Council that Annabeth would be thrilled to take on the task of re-designing Mount Olympus on her. She and Athena had gotten into such a vicious fight, Annabeth was surprised she hadn’t ended up vaporized by the end of it.

She hadn’t seen her mother since that night; later, discovering that her beloved Yankees cap had stopped working had just rubbed salt into the wound. But even without its powers, it was still a useful accessory for the times she wanted to draw less attention to herself.

Times like tonight, when the whole world now knew her name.

At the back of the bar, a rickety set of metal stairs led up to the Grand Eagle’s one redeeming feature: the rooftop bar. The rooftop wasn’t much more put together than downstairs — the owners had done very little to disguise the fact that the roof was a former roadway — but it at least had clean, matching furniture, fresh air, and a spectacular view of the bay and valley.

The twinkling white lights set up around the perimeter were starting to flicker on as Annabeth stepped out onto roof, which was even emptier than downstairs. Just the bartender, setting up for the night ahead and ignoring the three or four people smoking in the corner, and…

Though his back was to her, there was no mistaking the man who stood on the opposite side of the roof, silhouetted by the last rays of the setting sun and observing the sprawling city below — _his_ city.

Annabeth swallowed. She’d hoped she’d beat him here, so she could have a drink and get comfortable, but she must’ve taken longer to get ready than she’d thought. Not that she’d agonized over her outfit, throwing on a simple heather grey T-shirt, shorts, and gladiator sandals as soon as she’d gotten out of the shower.

The Eagle was the least prestigious place to meet she could think of on short notice, somewhere that would level the playing field, but as Annabeth took in Percy’s profile, she realized she had miscalculated. A dive bar wouldn’t rattle his confidence and authority one bit; it would only enhance it.

She chewed on her bottom lip as she stared at his back. After a moment of hesitation, she walked over to the bar, determined to buy herself a couple more minutes before she had to go talk to him.

“Double whiskey sour,” she told the bartender, digging for her wallet in her back pocket. “And a shot of Jameson, please.”

The bartender nodded, setting down the bottles he’d been restocking, and reaching for a shot glass. He slid the drink over to her and Annabeth downed it without hesitation, hoping the smooth whiskey would soothe the twisting nerves in her stomach.

Gods, what had she been thinking, reaching out to the _son of Neptune_ of all people? She didn’t know what she was going to say to him, let alone what he would say to _her_. This had been a colossal mistake.

She fidgeted with the shot glass for a moment before pushing it back toward the bartender. He set her whiskey sour down in front of her. Before he could tell her what she owed, a familiar voice spoke up from behind.

“Her drinks are on me.”

Annabeth jolted in surprise, sloshing some of drink over the side of the glass. She should’ve figured she wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. .

Taking a deep breath, she propped an elbow on the bar, half-turning toward Percy. “I wouldn’t, if I were you. Buying me a coffee is one thing, but I know how to run up a pretty big bar tab.”

He shot her an amused look as he sidled up next to her, a bottle of Guinness held loosely in hand. “I think my bank account can handle it.” He gaze darted to the bartender. “My tab.”

“Whatever, man,” he replied, turning toward the register to input Annabeth’s order.

The bartender gave no indication that he recognized who Percy was — and, even if he had, it was likely he didn’t care. No one asked a lot of questions at The Eagle, something she’d figured Percy would appreciate. Not that he had taken any great pains to disguise himself, simply ditching his business clothes for a black and blue baseball tee and sneakers.

“I haven’t been here since I was a legionnaire. This is new,” Percy continued, indicating the bar with a nod of the head. “Wouldn’t have pegged you as an Eagle regular.”

His gaze turned back to her, amusement still lingering in the depths of his eyes. That faded after a moment, replaced by the same delicious intensity he’d displayed hours ago in the cafe. He wasn’t looking at her any differently than he had before, Annabeth realized, her pulse thrumming in her veins. He still wanted _her_.

“I like the view,” she replied dryly, taking a long swallow of her drink, hoping he didn’t the flush rising on her cheeks. She already regretted not ordering another shot. “Thanks for meeting me. I wasn’t sure if… well... ”

“What? That I wouldn’t be interested once I found out what you really are?” He snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“And what am I, _really_?”

 _Liar. Murderer. Traitor. Whore_.

Depending on how much of the truth had come out, she could think of a number of words to describe what she was. She had no doubt that she was already being painted as all of these things by screaming pundits and furious trolls, by those stung and hurt from the deception. At this moment, however, Annabeth only cared about what the man beside her thought.

His shoulder brushed against hers as he leaned closer, the musky scent of sea and cedarwood washing over her.

“You,” he murmured, voice deep and husky, “are a _Titan Killer_.”

In the world of the gods, titles held just as much power as names, and hers was finally being acknowledged — and not just by anyone, but by her _equal_. A shiver ran down Annabeth’s spine at the reverence in his tone, as if she was a queen he’d waited all his life to worship.

Perhaps he had; they were two of a kind, after all.

“That’s right,” she said, lifting her chin. “I am.”

 

+

 

“I don’t get it.”

“Get what?” Annabeth asked, looking away from the deepening purple New Roman skyline.

Percy’s gaze hadn’t wandered from her profile since they’d sat down in a more secluded spot to talk. Perched on barstools, their drinks and elbows resting on the stone ledge ringing the rooftop, they sat close enough that Annabeth’s knee brushed against his whenever she moved, sending pulses of frisson through her body.

“Why you let Grace take the credit for it. He said he was doing you a _favor_ ,” Percy said, his eyes narrowing and a dark expression creeping on to his face. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Jason told you in person?”

“Yeah. Guess he figured he owed it to me, Big Three kid to Big Three kid.” He rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t a long talk. Neither was his address to senate leadership. He wouldn’t answer a lot of our questions; said he needed to clear it with you first.”

Regret rolled through Annabeth. Jason was still trying to protect her, even after she’d left him high and dry to handle this on his own. She truly didn’t deserve his friendship, not after all the trouble she’d caused him.

“What _did_ he tell you?” she asked, picking up her drink and forcing her guilty feelings away. She’d already spent enough time dwelling on them.

“He said that almost everything about the final battle with Kronos was a lie — that _you_ were the real hero that day. Then he apologized for being a liar and offered to resign his position — ”

“ _What_?”

“ — but Frank told him they could discuss it later. He went softer on him than I would’ve as _praetor_ , but he actually _likes_ Jason, so…” Percy shrugged, taking a pull from his beer. “I get why he’d steal the credit; everyone was expecting him to be _the one_ and he always was a glory hound. Must’ve been a big blow to the ego for him. But like I said, I don’t understand why you’d let him do it. You wouldn’t even let me take your training field for a night.”

“Because Jason didn’t steal anything; I asked him to tell everyone he’d done it,” she said, and he blinked, surprised. “It wasn’t something I wanted to be known for.”

“Why?”

That was the million _drachma_ question, wasn’t it? Why would any demigod give up the glory of being the Hero of Olympus? It all but guaranteed fame and fortune for the rest of their lives — not to mention a shot at eternal glory. Instead of living an anonymous, drudge-filled life in a city filled with people who looked down on her, Annabeth could’ve had the world at her feet.

Percy wouldn’t be the only one asking _why_ in the coming days. She didn’t know what she should tell him — what she _could_ tell him. Even if she didn’t explain now, her history would get dug up sooner or later, every nasty bit of it examined and critiqued in the public eye. It would be inescapable for weeks, maybe even months.

She glanced away from him again, staring at the distant, illuminated dome of the senate building. Her finger circled the rim of her glass idly. “I don’t even know where to start. It’s… complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?”

His voice was as gentle as she’d ever heard — coaxing, even. He wanted to hear her story. But Annabeth didn’t have to tell him anything more than she already had. He might get angry, might call her a bitch, but she didn’t owe him anything. She could drain her drink and walk out of The Eagle right now.

That wasn’t what she wanted, though. She’d reached out to him because, if anyone could understand her past, it would be the devil of New Rome.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself. It was time to excise some of her ghosts.

“Before he became Kronos, Luke Castellan was my boyfriend,” she said. “He was still in there, at the end, and he pleaded with me to kill him. Doing it was… traumatic experience, to say the least.”

She managed to keep her tone light and even, despite the way her chest tightened with dread with each word she spoke. Few people reacted reasonably when Luke’s name came up in conversation. He had caused so much pain to thousands, sown so much distrust between demigods, had betrayed the gods… There was no telling what he’d done to Percy or his friends during the war. She half-expected him to curse and spit at her before storming away.

Instead, he leaned back against the ledge and ran a hand through his hair. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” she said, taken aback by his sympathy. It made it easier for her to continue. “By that point in the war, I was already pretty messed up, but… I couldn’t handle being lauded for killing Luke. Not to mention what would happen once people found out we had a _history_.” She let out a humorless laugh. “I’m still not looking forward to that, actually. Tomorrow’s going to be a shitshow.”

She picked up her glass, taking another long swallow at the thought. Percy mirrored her and they fell into a charged silence for a few moments, broken only by the growing chatter of the other patrons at the bar and the sounds from the street below.

Annabeth could feel the tension in her chest beginning to wind tighter as he stared at her, quietly reassessing her. What was he thinking? Did he hate her for the weakness in her heart? Or, worse — did he _pity_ her?

When he spoke again, he said the last thing Annabeth expected.

“Luke Castellan gave me Riptide.”

“What?”

Percy pulled a simple ballpoint pen out of his pocket and held it up for her inspection. “It was the first summer after I joined the Legion, so I was probably about 12. I was still a _probatio_ and pretty much useless to everyone because I couldn’t find a suitable weapon to train with. Plus, being a cursed son of Neptune, no one wanted to train me properly anyway. And then Castellan and your centaur, Chiron, showed up at camp for a few months for that Greek/Roman combat exchange program we used to do before the war.”

That had been a miserable summer for everyone at Camp Half-Blood, Annabeth recalled with a sudden burst of fondness. The Roman centurions who had switched spots with Chiron and Luke had canceled most of their regular camp activities, and drilled them within an inch of their lives day in and day out. Mr. D had to take on more responsibilities and was crankier than ever. Without Chiron around to run interference, at least half the campers had spent some time as a dolphin before the end of the summer.

“I guess my dad — well, Poseidon, anyway — gave Chiron the sword for safekeeping a while back. He brought it with him once he heard Camp Jupiter had a son of Neptune hanging around. But Castellan was the one who gave it to me, just to practice with and see if it’d make a difference.” Percy spun the pen around his fingers. “I’ve had it ever since — and I’ve never told anyone the truth about how I got it until now.”

“Really?”

He shot her a sardonic look. “People already didn’t trust me. Telling them my sword was a gift from the host of Kronos would’ve give ‘em a _real_ reason to kill me.”

Annabeth was gobsmacked. She’d hoped that Percy wouldn’t judge her too harshly for her past with Luke, but she’d never imagined that _he_ would have decent memories of the son of Hermes as well. It put her at ease, knowing she wouldn’t have to fight to prove that Luke had once been more than Kronos’ most important soldier, that her love for him hadn’t been treachery at its very core.  

“I had no idea. I did wonder why you were fighting with a Celestial Bronze sword. You Romans are pretty snobby about your weapons.”

Percy bared his teeth in a grin. “Yeah, a lot of legionnaires from the other cohorts gave me shit about it for a while. They weren't such smartasses when Riptide was at their throats, though.” He dropped the grin after a moment, turning contemplative, and tucked the pen away. “Castellan taught me a lot that summer — standing up to assholes like that was only part of it.”

It wasn't hard to imagine Luke arriving at Camp Jupiter and taking a younger, outcast Percy Jackson under his wing. He’d already earned the trust of the children of Zeus and Hades — a son of Neptune would complete the set. Another powerful demigod to be his ally and help shape his destiny.

That was her cynicism talking, of course. Luke _had_ been genuinely good at 19. A little sharp around the edges, a little bitter in the darker moments, but still _good._ His fall hadn't come until later.

“He was like that,” Annabeth said quietly. “He wanted to take care of his fellow demigods, give them the best shot of survival he could because their godly parents certainly weren't going to do it for them. Kronos used that and twisted it into something dark.”

“I almost didn't believe it when I found out he was in charge of the Titan Army. I knew he’d fucked up his quest, but I never thought…” Percy shook his head. “He was a real bastard in the battlefield. I’ve never seen anyone fight like him… not until I met you, anyway.”

“He taught me a lot, too,” she said with a snort. “A lot more than I ever wanted to know.”

She downed the last of her drink, setting it back on the stone ledge with a forceful _clink_. Percy, whose beer bottle had been empty for some time, turned toward the bar and held up two fingers, indicating they wanted more drinks. Annabeth was grateful for it; she hardly felt the effects of the alcohol she’d already consumed, but she would need more of it to continue with the rest of her story.

A waitress dropped their drinks off, and Percy waited until she’d taken a fortifying sip before he spoke again.

“Did you love him?”

The boldness of the question nearly made Annabeth smile. He certainly wasn’t going to let her ease into the hard part of this, was he?

“Yes. I don’t think I realized how hard I’d fallen for him until he betrayed us,” she said. “Luke was everything a 17-year-old girl could want — handsome, talented, charismatic, a little bit dangerous… not to mention he was older. Old enough to know better than to give me any serious attention.”

The exact moment she knew she’d snared Luke’s attention as something other than his childhood sidekick was burned into her memory.

The older year rounders had snuck off to the beach for a party at the end of May, just before camp started for real for the summer. The party was something of a tradition — a delicious and drunk affair that even Chiron tended to look the other way on, provided nothing got too out of hand. That year, the Stolls had stolen a keg and a few handles of liquor from the convenience store down the road, some industrious child of Demeter had supplied a potent strain of weed, and Leo, still new to camp and eager to please, had rigged up an epic sound and lighting system for the music.

With all of that, Annabeth _should’ve_ been having a blast with her friends. However, strain had started to show up in her friendship with Jason by then and it was affecting every part of her life. She’d begun to resent Jason for a lot of things — being obnoxious about all the attention he was getting from the mortals; always taking the glory for things they’d achieved _together_ ; taking her presence in his life for granted.

Worst of all, Annabeth hadn’t been able to decide if she had romantic feelings for Jason or not, and he didn’t seem to care either way — not with the way he kept lavishing attention on Piper, who’d made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. It burned Annabeth up, that he’d just brush her feelings and everything everyone had ever said about them being a perfect couple over the years aside for some girl who hated him.

So, she’d done the one thing she knew would get his attention again: wearing a truly ridiculous, skin baring bikini to the party.

To her utter humiliation Jason had ignored her and stuck by Piper’s side for most of the night. _Everyone_ but him knew why she’d worn the damn thing and Drew, of course, had plenty of snide things to say about _desperate daughters of Athena_ whenever Annabeth walked past for the next few weeks.

Annabeth had drank and fumed in the firelight, cursing herself for not bringing a shirt to cover up, for being _so sure_ that Jason would be interested in her when he hadn’t displayed any hint of it _ever_ —

And then Luke had appeared.

He hadn’t been officially invited to the party, allegedly because he was considered camp staff now. Really, it was because no one knew how to _handle_ Luke any more. He’d been back at camp for almost two months, returning to recover after his disaster of a quest that had left him scarred and a laughingstock in the public’s eye. He’d been brooding and quiet, a stark change from the bright, mischievous son of Hermes they all knew.    

However, it seemed like the old Luke had come back for the night. He played the part of a beleaguered staff member, mock scolding the Stoll brothers for the noise before they all laughed and someone pushed a drink into his hand. He’d mingled with the college age campers around the campfire, catching up and joking around like nothing had changed. It didn’t take him long to notice Annabeth.

Annabeth had been doing her best _not_ to pay attention to Luke, like she had been since he’d gotten back to camp and she’d realized she wasn’t as over her childhood crush on him as she thought. It was so embarrassing, so _immature_ , to be hung up on him like that. What chance did she have at getting _Luke Castellan’s_ attention when Jason wouldn’t even look twice at her?

But she’d dared to glance over at him once — just _once_ — and accidentally met his cool blue gaze. It was an electrifying moment, one she might not’ve been able to handle without the alcohol and fury burning in her veins.

Their eyes had remained locked for what seemed like ages, until Luke broke it to give her body a lazy perusal from from head to toe. It was not the kind of look friends gave each other. She’d blushed furiously and turned away, forcing herself to listen to whatever Will Solace and Michael Yew had started arguing about and pretend that Luke Castellan simply didn’t exist.

That was hard to do when, minutes later, Michael called his name and she felt his presence at her side.

_“Boys,” he’d said, nodding greetings around their circle. His deep voice caused Annabeth’s heartbeat to quicken. Finally, he turned to her and their eyes met again; his blue eyes burned with rousing interest. “Hey Annabeth.”_

That’s it. That’s all it had taken to make her fall for that miserable man. Even 10 years later, the thought of how _simple_ it had been terrified her.

Because she knew it could happen again just as easily.

“How much older?” Percy asked, drawing her back to the present. A dark look had appeared on his face; he’d already done the math, but she answered him anyway.

“He was 25.”

He cursed colorfully in Latin and then again in English for good measure. “That _son of a bitch_.”

She offered him a bitter smile. “Like I said, old enough to know better. But if you think I’m stubborn now, you should’ve seen me back then. Luke gave me an inch and I ran a mile with it. I wanted him and I wasn’t going to stop until I got every part of him.

“There’s a part of me that likes to think he would’ve ignored me if Kronos already hadn’t been in his head by that point, but… Luke’s pride was smarting after that failed quest. He was a public laughingstock, he’d been exiled back to his least favorite place in the world, camp, and everyone was too busy admiring their next hero to pay attention to him. Well, everyone but me, anyway. I fell right into his lap, starry-eyed and ready to put him back together. He didn’t have the willpower to resist that temptation, Kronos or not.”

Percy took an furious swig of his beer, his green eyes swirling like a tempest. If Luke wasn’t already long dead, she imagined Percy would be off to find him and skewer him. “Don’t make excuses for him. He was the adult. He _used_ you — ”

“He used everyone. I wasn’t special in that regard,” Annabeth interrupted, waving her hand dismissively. “I’m not telling you this so you’ll view me as some kind of victim. I made my own choices. And those first few months with Luke… they were good. I felt like was a better person when I was with Luke.”

Sometimes, what bothered her most about what happened with Luke wasn’t that he’d broken her heart. She wouldn’t lost herself so badly if that’s all their relationship had destroyed. But he had taken more than that — he’d betrayed her trust and utterly shattered her pride. He’d claimed to understand her, to _value_ her.

He’d _believed_ in her.

That had been the worst lie of them all.

 _“Y’know, it’s cute that you thought any of that shit between us mattered. You were_ convenient _, Annabeth. That’s all you’ll ever be — an accessory to better heroes. A footnote in someone else’s destiny.”_

A sour taste entered Annabeth’s mouth at the harsh memory. It pained her to admit that, after all these years, there was some truth to them now. She’d lost her taste for achieving greatness after the war, letting herself get erased from even the footnotes of history.

“Things changed after the Master Bolt disappeared. I think that’s when he realized I was useful for more than just sex and building up his ego. I started noticing he was acting stranger soon after, but… our relationship was never public, so him sneaking around and being secretive wasn’t _that_ unusual,” she continued with a frown. If their relationship had been a decent one from the beginning, there would have been no need to hide it from their friends. “He was so good at manipulating me. If he hadn’t tried to kill Jason, I might’ve even joined him in the end.”

If there had been anyone at Camp Half-Blood more hurt than she by Luke’s betrayal, it had been Jason. Jason had admired Luke from the moment he showed up at camp, practically becoming his shadow for the first few years. Luke, for his part, had vowed to protect Jason once he found out that the boy was Thaila’s little brother and did his best to look after him in honor of her memory. The three of them — Luke, Annabeth, and Jason — were a force to be reckoned with during the early years at camp.

At some point, however, Luke’s fondness for Jason began to fade and transformed into a seething, toxic resentment. Maybe it had always been there and Luke simply had been better at ignoring back when Jason was a toothless, messy haired six-year-old instead of an obnoxious teenager. Either way, Annabeth never suspected how much he _hated_ Jason until it was nearly too late.

She’d been busy dealing with her own issues with Jason at the time, however. Their estrangement had continued throughout the summer, and things only got worse when he finally was called to retrieve the weapon for his father. Jason had picked Piper and Leo to accompany him on the quest, which had infuriated Annabeth to no end. She was his _best friend_. He’d known how much she wanted to go on a quest, especially one as important as this! She been training all her life — what could _Piper_ offer than she couldn’t?

Their fight had been nasty, and the effects carried over after the trio came back, safe and triumphant. Jason’d been annoyed with her entitlement and attitude, and her continued snobbery toward Piper and Leo caused countless blow ups between the two of them. By the time Luke revealed his true colors, they were hardly speaking.

Luke, of course, had done everything possible to stoke the flames of her resentment even higher. She’d appreciated having someone on her side for once, but as Luke’s attacks and rants about Jason got progressively nastier, she realized he wasn’t doing it to support _her_. If Luke actually cared about either of them, he would’ve encouraged them to put aside their differences and repair their friendship; instead, he’d tried to isolate Annabeth, so she’d only rely on him for support and comfort.

After that realization, all of the strange things, the warning signs, she’d ignored over the last few months came into focus and she’d started digging. Annabeth had turned to Jason when Luke got _scary_ , when she figured out what he’d been up to all this time. He’d had his own suspicions about the son of Hermes by that point, and Annabeth’s tearful confession about their relationship had been enough to make him finally confront Luke.

And that was when their lives changed for good.

She told Percy all of this, the story coming out easier than she ever thought it would. The whiskey coursing through her veins helped, loosening her tongue and banishing her anxiety. Still, she had a feeling it would have been much more difficult if anyone but Percy was sitting next to her.

He listened to her intently, arms crossed over his chest and broad shoulders tensed, his leg bouncing up and down furiously as she spoke. His mouth was pressed into a thin, angry line — he clearly had plenty more to say about Luke, but he didn’t interrupt her again.

“Even after he revealed his true allegiances, I don’t think anyone at camp _really_ believed he meant it. _I_ certainly didn’t want to. We were all sort of hoping he’d come back and put things right, that we could just sweep it under the rug… Then he made that broadcast.” She swallowed, remembering Luke’s fierce declaration of war against the gods, the cold, contemptuous way he’d slaughtered one of his mortal enemies as a sacrifice to Kronos. “After that, people didn’t think my relationship with Luke was such an innocent mistake any more.”

“Did they think you were his spy?”

“Nearly everyone. I didn’t do myself any favors, running around and telling anyone who would listen that we couldn’t give up on Luke.” Annabeth propped her chin on her hand and shrugged. “I don’t blame people for not trusting me at first — it was smart, actually. I was _the_ daughter of Athena; I was cold and calculating. I always had a plan. A heart, however… that was debatable.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Which part?”

“Anyone seriously thinking _you’re_ cold.” He took a long drink of beer. “That’s the last word I’d use to describe you.”

She flushed, surprised, and struggled to find her next words. “You barely know me.”

“And? The woman I met yesterday was a demanding, quick-tempered vixen with something to prove… which doesn’t sound all that different from the girl you’ve spent the last hour telling me about. You weren’t cold then and you aren’t now. Anyone who thinks otherwise isn’t paying attention.”

“Clearly not as much as _you_ are.” She jerked her gaze away from him, unable to stand his scrutiny any longer. “What’s it matter to you if people think I’m a frigid bitch anyway?”

The barstool creaked as Percy leaned toward her, pressing his arm against her, and Annabeth froze in surprise as she felt calloused, but gentle fingertips sliding along her jaw. He tilted her chin back toward in his direction, until she had no choice but face him.

“Because you deserve better than that,” he said simply.

Annabeth’s heart pounded as she searched his face, waiting for a hint of mockery to appear in his green eyes or for cruelty to pull at the corner of his mouth. Instead, she found nothing but sincerity.

Gods, she wanted to kiss him so bad her chest ached. It had been so long since someone had told her she was worthy and meant it; it’d been even longer since she told herself that. How did Percy know exactly what to say to put her at ease?

He seemed to know exactly what she wanted. His hand slipped to the back of her neck, tilting her face up to his, and she reached out, ready to curl her hands around those broad shoulders —

Unbidden, Piper’s warning words floated into her mind, sending her crashing back down to earth.

_“He’s smart and charming… but he’s a calculating, manipulative asshole underneath it all.”_

She paused, fingers just centimeters away from touching him, and pulled back, disoriented. Percy dropped his hand immediately.

“Sorry, I —“ She pushed her drink away and stood abruptly. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

Percy’s brow furrowed and made a move to stand, but Annabeth held up a warning hand. “Just… stay. I’ll be back.”

She turned on her heel and didn’t look at him as she walked toward the stairs, cursing herself for her foolishness with every step away.

A rush of noise and hot, stuff air greeted her as she entered The Eagle’s main level. The bar was packed with bodies now, a rowdy night finally about to get underway. The excited drone of the crowd meant nothing to Annabeth as she pushed her way through to the back hall. There was no line to the bathrooms, though two girls were retouching their make-up in the grimy, cracked mirror when Annabeth entered. They took one look at the expression on her face and quickly fled; she pulled out her knife and slid in through the door handle, crudely barring the door so she wouldn’t be disturbed.

"What exactly do you think you’re doing, Chase?" she asked herself as she leaned over the sink, staring at her reflection.

If kissing Percy Jackson had been a bad idea when she’d just been an overlooked daughter of Athena, it was an insanely stupid one now that she was the Hero of Olympus. She wasn’t just a woman who had kicked his ass. She was someone important; someone he could _use_.

Percy _saw_ her so effortlessly — and it didn’t bother her nearly as much as it should have.

Because, damn him, he was _right_ about her.

She could be a cold, unfeeling creature of logic when she needed to be, but at her core, that wasn’t who she was. If anything, she felt _too much_ . She craved the intimate acceptance and love she saw between people like Jason and Piper; ached to trust and be valued for more than just her brains and physical skills; feared that there was something fundamentally _wrong_ with her that kept driving people away.

It was easier to shut down and distance herself, to pretend she didn’t — _couldn’t_ care about anything substantial, especially after the war had scarred her so. But that didn’t mean she was always good at keeping up the facade. Usually, it just took much longer than a day or two for someone to notice.

What exactly did Percy Jackson want from her? Curiosity couldn’t have been the only reason he decided to meet her tonight. Did he want a story to sell, to embarrass a potential new rival? Was he hoping to use his inside knowledge to gain leverage over Jason or any of his other enemies? Or...

_“And what am I, really?”_

_“You’re a Titan Killer.”_

Or was here because he still wanted to get a drink with a woman who wasn’t afraid of him?

Annabeth nearly laughed. She more afraid of Percy now that she ever had been in the training arena. A part of her still wanted to run from him and never look back; getting involved with him could be like Luke all over again.

_Or it could be something better._

She’d spent the last few years running from anything that challenged her, no matter how much she’d wanted it. She’d had held herself back from risk and ruin, and where had that gotten her?

Absolutely nowhere.

She could try to keep what she had now, the half-life of a girl, cowering from her past and living like a shadow, always pretending she was worth less than she deserved. She could settle, get attached to a clueless _good guy_ who would never understand her, and let the fiercest parts of her keep rusting into oblivion. She _could_ …

But she wasn’t going to.

She met her gaze in the mirror once more, steel-eyed and resolved.

She wasn’t a naive 17-year-old girl any more. She knew what she wanted from the son of Neptune and what he was willing to give her. They were the same, weren’t they? Survivors. _Titan Killers_.

It didn’t matter if Percy Jackson wanted something other than her body… because she wouldn’t let him have anything else.

 

+

 

She reunited with Percy at the bottom of The Eagle’s rust-covered stairs.

The fact that he’d followed her, despite her reassurances that’d she come back, didn’t surprise her in the slightest. She’d already run out on him once today, after all. He’d look like a fool if it happened again and she’d look like the worst sort of tease.

“I meant it when I said I’d be back, you know,” she said, leaning on the rail as he approached. He paused on the last step, his expression cool and bland as he looked her over. Well, that was new.

“I figured. You left this on your seat,” he said, pulling her Yankees cap out of his back pocket. “You were gone for a while. I thought someone might’ve recognized you and started causing some trouble.”

“The line was long,” she lied. “And I’m more than capable of handling trouble.”

“I know.”

A stilted silence settled between them as they stared at one another, broken only by the muffled hollering from inside the bar. Annabeth’s nerves sparked as she noted the stiffness in Percy’s shoulders and the tight clench of his jaw. _Now_ he was angry with her? For what?

He shifted restlessly on his feet and finally bit out, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I wasn’t thinking. If you want to keep talking, I won’t touch you again, I swear.”

Percy wasn’t angry with _her_ — he was mad at himself for pushing her boundaries, for scaring her. She wasn’t the only one between them struggling with the weight and consequences of a reputation, who had to navigate tricky politics and ulterior motives.

It was a revelation that knocked Annabeth’s breath from her.

And made her next decision all the easier.

“I don’t want to talk about Kronos anymore.”

He nodded stiffly, looking away, misunderstanding. “All right.”

“I do, however,” she said, planting a foot on the stairs and stepping up to join him, her body pressing flush against his hard chest, “want you to keep touching me.”

The air grew heavy as Percy’s eyes swung back to her. She was sure she saw a flash of surprise before it was swallowed by the dark hunger that overtook his expression. Heat flared and spread across Annabeth’s body from every part of her that touched him, gathering and pooling low in her belly. She could feel the flex of his muscles against her breasts and her nipples tightened with want.

“You’re sure?”

Annabeth studied Percy’s shadowed face carefully as she briefly pondered her question.

For all the similarities she saw between the two men, she knew Luke would’ve never apologized for something so simple; Luke had never _asked._  He’d just taken and used until he was satisfied, and left her with nothing but ruins. Luke had wanted a follower, not a partner.

Percy Jackson wanted an equal.

“Did you mean what you said?” she asked, pressing her hands to his chest, letting them skim up his shoulders and to the side of his neck. “About me deserving better?”

One his big hands settled on the small of her back, holding her steady; his palm was almost scorchingly hot through the thin cotton of her shirt. He tilted his mouth toward hers, his voice a delicious rumble, “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

Her mouth slanted over his, swallowing the last of his words in a kiss. She’d expected a desperately passionate response from him, his hunger for her barely contained… she should’ve known better. This was the son of Neptune, after all.

Percy’s lips moved over hers with deliberate, destructive slowness, taking her apart one movement at a time. It was a deep, drugging kiss that swelled and rose, and Annabeth nearly let it swallow her whole. However, before she could pulled under, she still had an answer to give him.

“Then yes,” she breathed. “I’m sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised smut in this part and I lied. My bad. I reached a natural ending point and simply didn't have the energy to write another 2,000 words. NEXT TIME. 
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://greenconverses.tumblr.com/) for updates and snippets, or feel free to donate to my ko-fi. Both can be found under greenconverses.


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